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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466887">Capra</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiryyGray/pseuds/SiryyGray'>SiryyGray</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Hop, Skip, and a Jump [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood &amp; Manga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>03 Ed gets extra traumatized :(, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Internal Crossover, Mystery, Parallel Universes, Post-Promised Day, Temporary Character Death, WWII references, brotherhood/ 03 crossover babey!, no romantic relationships, not even in the background I can't write romance for shit, pre-shamballa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:02:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>56,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiryyGray/pseuds/SiryyGray</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward should be dead. Bullet to the back, straight through his lungs and out the other side. But instead he wakes up back in Amestris, fully alive and baffled. Problem is, this isn’t his Amestris. Someone’ll catch on eventually, so he runs and hopes they don’t follow. Unfortunately for him, Mustang’s team is stubborn in every world and already has a collective degree in conspiracy-busting.</p><p>Or<br/>I grab post-canon by the throat, break it over my knee and caber toss 03 Ed into the Brotherhood-verse. Chaos ensues, as is tradition with all things Elric-related.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alphonse Elric &amp; Edward Elric &amp; Roy Mustang, Edward Elric &amp; Noah, Edward Elric &amp; Team Mustang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Hop, Skip, and a Jump [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865245</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Akira's Fullmetal Alchemist Favorite, Canon? What's That?</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. La Cavallina</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>CW: Gun violence/ hostage situation. Mild blood. Implied panic attack.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a bullet that killed him.</p><p>After all the things he’d lived through, all the fantastical dangers and fire raining from the sky; after he’d survived by staring death in the face, middle fingers flying, it’s the simple tug of a trigger that leaves him bloodied, breathless, and so very still.</p><p>Edward had been on his way to a lecture. Some guy named <em>Oskar Klein</em> was going to do a teaching about general relativity and the university had no way of knowing whether or not Edward was really a student.</p><p>Not that they would care anyways, so he’d slip in with the crowds of trust-fund babies and hope his battered clothes didn’t give him away. Edward resolved earlier not to say a word because surely the accent would stamp a target on his back if the disheveled…. <em>everything else </em>didn’t do it first.</p><p>The day had been bright and grey, white-sterling light touching the cobblestone walkways while paperboys tried their hand at swindling him. He declined with daggers firing from his glare and left a few coins in his wake for the little brats to snatch up later.</p><p>He clutched his small briefcase in one hand and marched into the bank like he actually belonged there. It’s not like they could really kick him out, but the strange looks he always gained for his requests was enough to make him squirm. He pulled his cap low over his eyes and shouldered the door open.</p><p>Thankfully, it wasn’t particularly busy today.</p><p>Teller windows marched along one wall, stringed off into sections with their honey-stained wood brushing against the ceiling tiles. The incessant clicks from typewriters and pinging of registers was so familiar it almost was pleasant, but the moment was ruined when he caught the gaze of the woman who seemed to live behind her window.</p><p>Edward wouldn’t be surprised to find a pillow under her desk; he’d seen her hunkered down in that chair well past working hours.</p><p>All things considered, it might be true. The world was on fire, after all.</p><p>She sighed and waved him over.</p><p>“Elric.” She drawled, raising an eyebrow. “What can I do for you?”</p><p>He smiled sheepishly with a half shrug. “Hey, Syd.” She glared at him and unclipped her name tag numbly. “Any updates on the exchange rate?” Edward leaned his elbows on the counter, arms folded atop one another.</p><p>Sydney looked back down at the quilt of papers spread against her desk, apathetic and indifferent. “Same as the last time you asked.”</p><p>His heart burrowed into his gut and Edward savoured the idea of banging his head against the glass. But that would be rude, wouldn't it? He hadn’t expected it to change, but it was disheartening nonetheless.</p><p>“You could always ask for a loan, you know.” Sydney suggested, as was tradition.</p><p>He snorted mirthlessly. “I wouldn’t be able to pay it back.” He replied, rehearsed in the exchange like actors in a play. Maybe they should start up a theatre troupe or something. They could sing and burn their art for warmth.</p><p>From behind him there came the soft mutterings of other customers, pulling him from the moment of defeat. A glance told him that a mother and her son were waiting behind him, the boy pouting at the ground while the woman was hushing his whines gently. He had bright red hair. Edward’s heart ached.</p><p>“Theo, be patient.” She admonished.</p><p>Edward straightened and gave a polite nod to Sydney.</p><p>“Thanks anyways.”</p><p>“Same time next week?” She flipped through her notes to mark down another number, not bothering to watch his expression. It was always the same, after all. Quiet disappointment to her discontent.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>A gunshot split the air.</p><p>The sound of glass breaking sent a series of sirens wailing through Edward’s head as he whirled to see a lone man gripping a pistol with bleach-white knuckles. He looked frantic and the heaving breaths screamed out <em>unstable</em>.</p><p>The woman grabbed her son and pulled him back as the man stalked forward.</p><p>“All of you get down. Hands up and don’t move.” The dozen or so people in the bank were already panicked. A young girl was shaking as she knelt. An elderly man dropped his cane and bowed his head while his wife gripped his hand.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>Edward followed the lead of the other customers, slowly lowering himself and keeping his hands visible. The man was whipping around in circles and shouting manically. Edward took a deep breath, inhaling the scene and yanking the pull cord buried in the analytical side of his brain, engine whirring. He blocked out the noise best he could, trying not to hear the sobs coming from the young boy. His eyes darted to where his briefcase laid, discarded at his side.</p><p>He shook his head, blinking away the thought. He needed to talk this guy down, if possible.</p><p>If not, well, maybe he could just get to his case… the magazine was still half full and—</p><p>The shadow over him stopped the idea in its tracks. The man leered at him, kicking his belongings away, finger straining at the trigger dangerously.</p><p>“I said,” He spat, “don’t move.”</p><p>Edward breathed, staring past the gun that was damn near touching his forehead. “I wasn’t going to.”</p><p>His head cracked to the side, cap knocked to the floor and his hair spilling over is eyes. Being pistol-whipped, Edward decided, <em>sucked</em>.</p><p>“Sure you weren’t.” The robber sneered. “Think you’re gonna be the hero? Don’t try it.”</p><p>“I won’t.” Edward swallowed his pride with a spoonful of bitterness and let himself bow. “Just don’t shoot anyone. <em>Please</em>.” The word was acidic on his tongue and it was all the blond could do to not spit it out like a buckshot.</p><p>The robber snarled, briefly pressing the barrel to Edward’s temple for good measure. His breath stuttered when the cool metal met his skin.</p><p>
  <em>Not again. Not again.</em>
</p><p>It retreated a moment later. The man had already ordered two tellers to collect a wealth of money, breaking through their windows with the butt of his pistol and firing off another warning shot.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>The staff members, two young men, were huddled in the corner, trembling as they readied a bag and let it brim with cash. The robber backed up, still itching to let his charges fly free but for some reason he held back.</p><p>“Hurry!” He shouted at the tellers. They flinched so hard Edward was sure they’d gotten whiplash from it. The cries from the boy—<em>Theo</em>—became louder. His mother tried to press him into her shoulder, muffling the sounds only by a fraction. It wasn’t enough.</p><p>“Stop it.” Hissed the man, rounding on the mother. She looked terrified but determination and protectiveness crammed all the way up to her chin. Edward’s mouth went dry.</p><p>“Stop!” The man repeated, his voice cleaving down the middle of Edward’s lungs. He saw the way the robber’s hands were twitching. The defiance on the mother’s face and the horror pouring down his own throat. The robber reached forward and wrenched the boy away by the wrist.</p><p>
  <em>I need to…</em>
</p><p>He dropped Theo in the middle of the floor, his mother pleading behind him. “Shut up.” He looked like he was going to hit the boy. Edward seized up. The robber raised his weapon. His eyes were cold. The boy wailed.</p><p>
  <em>Not again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t—</em>
</p><p>He was moving before he finished the thought, scrambling up from his knees and diving towards Theo. Edward tackled the kid, both arms wrapping around his shoulders as a bang streaked through the room. It was so quiet. His own heart thundered in his chest, roaring in his ears.</p><p>He didn’t even feel it at first. Only the warmth that erupted through his back, stitched through his lungs and the low crunch of a rib being torn loose. Edward didn’t bother to look back as the robber dropped the gun and ran. He just slowly pushed himself up to look at the sobbing child, gently pulling the boy’s hands away from where they ripped chunks from his own skin.</p><p>“Hey.” He whispered, smiling. “Just look at me, okay? You’re alright.” His hand brushed away a tear and agony started to well through his body, slipping through his teeth to the tune of iron and dark, oily red.</p><p>“You’re alright.” He repeated, swallowing back the blood that was already filling his lungs. “Theo. It’s Theo, right? Hey, look up here.” The teary-eyed child gazed at the blond, trying to nod through his hiccuping. Edward kept the boy’s eyes trained up and away from the hole in his stomach, blood soaking through his clothes.</p><p>His vision was already growing hazy. Edward passed the kid off to his mother. He could feel himself folding, collapsing inward.</p><p>The woman was crying.</p><p>“Don’t let him see.” He told her before listing to the side. Edward choked on blistering hot liquid, gasping at the fresh jolt of pain when he hit the floor. The smoke and fire crawling through his body dragged a low cry from his lips.</p><p>The mother was gripping his hand. “I’m sorry.” She muttered, holding his knuckles to her forehead. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>He faded. Surrounded by strangers with the early-morning sun still meandering halfway to the sky.The last, fleeting thought he could form through his shuttering heaves was that he’d failed.</p><p>
  <em>I’ll never get home.</em>
</p><p>Edward’s eyes didn’t shut, but the light vanished.</p><p>It was a bullet that killed him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>For a moment, he was falling. Down, down, down. Dropped into open air and, if he ever had some kind pf parachute, it had conveniently dissolved into nothing. Because he was just <em>lucky</em> like that.</p><p>Edward’s eyes snapped open and suddenly he was on the ground.</p><p>Slumped against a pile of boxes strewn about a redbrick alleyway. It was alien and familiar at the same time, a vague sense of recognition warming his senses as anxiety toiled in the background. His lungs were straining, gasping like he’d been decked right in the solar plexus and all the wind had been spirited away from his body. Edward was stunned and sore beyond belief.</p><p>He lay there, sucking in night-chilled air and staring up between the buildings to where a collection of stars were glowering down at him, wondering why he wasn’t dead. And he knew he wasn’t dead because the cold biting into his skin was far too harsh; the metal pressing against his back was sharp and grating. Edward knew what death felt like and this wasn’t it.</p><p>He had waltzed through the horribly nothingness of being killed and shook hands with the distinct, gentle sliding of one’s soul between blank spaces. It was entirely absent here. He inhaled a lungful of mildew and cloud-drenched stone.</p><p>
  <em>He should be dead.</em>
</p><p>Edward’s hand slowly trailed over his stomach, feeling up to the left side of his ribs where he’s sure a sliver of metal had fully run him through. There was no blood. No feeling of ripped and ragged skin. His fingers slipped below the hem of his shirt and were meet with a twisting, knotted mass of scar tissue. Calloused and rough, exactly like the one at his sternum from Envy. This one wasn’t as aged, but the rope-like texture was unmistakable.</p><p>He jerked upright and immediately regretted it. Nausea made itself a nice home right in his stomach and promptly started smacking pots and pans together. He tensed and then heaved to the side.</p><p>“Aw hell.” He muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.</p><p><em>Bang bang bang!</em> Edward ducked and emptied his stomach. </p><p>He spat the taste out, nearly gagging again at the scent. The blond hauled himself up, hand on the wall and pinching the sweet spot at the bridge of his nose that usually helped with migraines. He felt like he’d drank a full bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach.</p><p>A hangover to rival food poisoning or worse. Edward shook the dirt from his clothes and was immensely relived to find his belongings were intact: notes, meds and all, tucked away haphazardly into his briefcase.</p><p>Had he gotten hammered and passed out? Did he dream up that nightmarish scenario? Edward limped out of the alleyway, wishing that the ground would kindly stop swimming beneath him lest it fancied another round of sickness dirtying it. He brushed aside the thoughts, taking in the streetlights and barren road.</p><p><em>No</em>. You can’t imagine that type of pain. He knew well enough what dreams could conjure up and an honest-to-god bullet wasn’t one of him. Edward’s hand climbed back to the scar he’d felt. To his horror, he could feel his splintered rib. Where it was supposed to be and its shattered remains poking through his skin, woven into place but all so sickly <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>Yep. He was gonna throw up again.</p><p>At least this time he had the wherewithal to spit into one of the garbage cans dotted through the street. Three times the charm. Maybe his stomach will settle now.</p><p>On the one hand, he felt a bit better. On the other, he can’t really afford to be ridding himself of food at the moment. It was scarce enough as is. He treaded along the sidewalk, hand skimming the storefronts in case his eyes shut down on him or if the dizziness circling his head dropped down like an anvil.</p><p>There was a strange buzz arcing through his body.</p><p>It wasn’t… <em>bad</em>. It actually felt familiar. Warm, like the humidity that sticks to his face when a thunder storm is dragging itself into town. But the twinges of urgency still spun over his nerves and sent his mind off on a marathon. He shut his eyes, a hand prodding mindfully at his temple. His head was pulsing, beating from the inside out, pulled tight like the skin of a drum and reverberating endlessly. Edward shook himself, forcing his eyes open as he rounded a corner.</p><p>He blinked, nonplussed, while his heart dropped straight down through his shoes and into the ground.</p><p>That’s… that’s <em>Eastern Command</em>.</p><p>Right there. Standing in front of him. Tall, monolithic and imposing, ugly and terrible and absolutely <em>breathtaking</em>.</p><p>He staggered, jaw dropping to his feet. “I…”</p><p>Edward whirled to the empty street, staring down at his hands. They looked ordinarily mismatched, different tones of flesh contrasting faintly so that most wouldn’t notice. His left arm twitched, instinctively itching toward his right. The analog prosthetic flexed as he tested its durability, making sure it hadn’t been comprised when he’d <em>been shot</em>.</p><p>Because that’s what happened.</p><p>It took a tectonic amount of effort, but Edward managed to slowly hold his hands out in front of him and press his palms together.</p><p>Energy buzzed and whirred though him, prickling over his skin. It flooded his fingertips with heat, dancing up his arm with goosebumps in its wake and Edward breathed in sparks, dropping to his knees.</p><p>He felt more real and awake than he had in… in <em>years</em>.</p><p>The trilling electricity that touched at his nerves was like a shot of pure adrenaline. Edward placed his hands against the curb and exhaled.</p><p>The small flash that lit up his face was exhilarating. It was simple. Beyond basic. But before him sat a little statue, knitting itself together from the concrete.</p><p>Edward’s shoulders shook and he breathed out a gasp. He felt almost giddy, the thrill of alchemy pouring through his veins. It washed over him like a balm, clearing the aching of his side and the oh-so persistent lightheadedness.</p><p>He couldn’t hope to hold back the stuttering, airy laugh. Edward didn’t try to stand. He just sat there, hands gripping his knees while he smiled at the ground.</p><p>“I’m back. I <em>made it</em>.”</p><p>He doesn’t know how long he stayed there, hunched over the shoddy little figurine while his thoughts ran, leaping towards relief ad nauseam. “I made it.“ He chanted to himself, over and over like a mantra. He didn’t know how or why but, frankly, Edward didn’t have the energy to care. After three years living in another world he was home.</p><p>Edward finally struggled up, balancing on his now numb leg precariously as he padded gracelessly down the walkway. The sun was starting to peak out from the horizon, a soft blue burning into where the night met the earth. It was incredible and familiar and—</p><p>
  <em>What now?</em>
</p><p>Edward circled Eastern Command, looking up at it, awestruck in a way he never thought the cursed place could make him feel. He used to hate this building. Loathed it’s sweeping arches and pillars stretching skyward. Now?</p><p>It was fucking incredible.</p><p>He took to counting the gates, each lined up neatly against the grey walls. The uniformity brought on a mix of nostalgia and discomfort. It was the place he’d spent years of his life hanging around, bouncing between missions and being fondly bullied by teammates and researching into the early hours on the morning.</p><p>He eventually clambered his way into a little glass box and stared down at the telephone. It stared right back. His hands most certainly did not hover over the receiver for an entire minute before he picked the damn thing up.</p><p>The number he dialled would forever be printed in his mind and even if it wasn’t, muscle memory would take over and input the right digits without even glancing into his internal address book for confirmation. He held his breath when the line started to buzz.</p><p>It rang three times before there was a soft clatter and a voice hummed through the speaker, dazed with sleep.</p><p>“<em>Hello</em>?” He wanted to cry or jump in circles like a kid. He wanted to scream as loud as possible or collapse facedown on the road for a year. Instead, Edward leaned his head against the metal box and gripped the phone tightly.</p><p>“Hey, Winry.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The fact that Roy could actually read Hawkeye genuinely scared him.</p><p>Most days, she upheld the picturesque visage of professionalism. Even with as long as he’s known her, Roy still had trouble picking apart her expressions. Right now, however, Hawkeye was wearing her emotions on her sleeve and it was more unsettling than he’d’ve expected.</p><p>She didn’t say a word though, instead pouring her frustration and troubles into lines of ink scrawled out over parchment, her frown matching up with the word <em>apherension</em> as though they’d been built for one another. Like a sixth sense, Roy swore, she could feel hurricane brewing from the moment a butterfly beat its wings.</p><p>The office was strangely quiet and Roy knew for fact it was because of the atmosphere that hung over the Lieutenant’s head. It was soaking into all of them. He was waiting for Hawkeye to pull out a pistol and unload a clip into a window simply to get whatever was eating her out of her system. He was receiving harsh, demanding glares from everyone in the room each time he tried to sneak out of his own office for a coffee refill. When even Fuery joined in on the tirade, Roy sighed and mentally prepared his will.</p><p>She was on the phone, speaking in hushed, hurried tone to a voice he didn’t recognize. He waited for her to finish, fiddling with his mug, feigning purpose in the room other than to eavesdrop and signing his own death certificate.</p><p>When Hawkeye hung up with a heavy crease through her brow, Roy cautiously swept by her desk.</p><p>“Lieutenant.”</p><p>“Sir,” She didn’t even look up at him, eyes trained down at her work fiercely. He wondered what the poor papers had done to offend her.</p><p>“What was that about?”</p><p>Hawkeye didn’t make the slightest effort to round out her clipped tone. “Pardon?”</p><p>He gestured to the phone with a frown. “Who were you calling?”</p><p>She fell silent, mouth twisting in thought. He glanced over his shoulder where the rest of his team were hurtling a series of bruising stares his way. Hawkeye carefully set down the pen she’d been twirling and met his eyes. They were pooling with restlessness.</p><p>His ever-patient Lieutenant was being guillotined with unease. Perhaps hell had frozen over as well.</p><p>Roy tried again. “You’ve been… distracted.” He cherrypicked his words, mindful of the scowl teasing her face.</p><p>“Did you know Ed was in East City?” She asked suddenly.</p><p>Roy blinked. “I did not. Is he?” Hawkeye fell back against her chair, looking more confused than anything else. Contemplative was a thing the woman rarely was, but on occasion it surfaced. She was usually fixed on the present, so the moments of meditation were always attention grabbing. He watched her a bit closer.</p><p>“I saw him this morning by the train station.”</p><p>“And he didn’t stop by HQ?” Roy questioned, drifting back from her workspace, inching towards his office door.</p><p>“Said it slipped his mind.”</p><p>Roy shrugged in response, trying to wave off the hints of worry that chilled her words. “He was probably in a rush.”</p><p>Hawkeye’s frown morphed to a scowl. Roy paused and gave her a quick once over, paying more mind to the details he might’ve let slip by. Her fingers drummed lightly against the well-worn wood of her desk, a paper cup of coffee sitting untouched to the left. Her hair was neat as always, uniform crisp and untouched by the dust he <em>knew</em> was scattered about the room. Yet the collected appearance started to crack at her expression.</p><p>“That’s what he said.” She muttered. Roy crossed his arms, an eyebrow raising suspiciously.</p><p>“So what’s the problem?”</p><p>“I just called the station. There’s no trains headed west until tomorrow night.”</p><p>Huh. Weird.</p><p>He tried for an easy chuckle. “He’s probably just wandering around. Don’t worry so much, he can take care of himself just fine. You know that as well as I do.”</p><p>Hawkeye fixed him with a hard look. One part stern, two parts <em>startlingly</em> worried. “Something wasn’t right. I can’t put my finger on it, but he was nervous.”</p><p>“Please.” He huffed. “That kid is more cryptic than a swamp hermit.”</p><p>“<em>Roy</em>.” She interrupted sharply to the echoing of absolute dead silence. The room froze. He could feel the shock rolling off everyone else as they looked up from their work to. She rarely called him by name, especially in the workplace. He eyed her carefully as she drew a frustrated inhale. “I’m serious. He was… <em>off</em>; he didn’t quite look like himself. I haven’t a clue why but he lied to me. I don’t know what exactly was wrong, but I could see it.”</p><p>“I…” Roy paused. He ran through a mental checklist of possibilities, most of which were a variation on Ed being impatient or grumpy from a long trip. But he knew Hawkeye could turn someone over in her palm and read them cover to cover in a moment with the ease of a scholar flipping through a picture-book. The air around him shifted into something thicker, denser and the teasing edge to his demeanour fully melted. “I can try to get ahold of him if you think it’s serious.”</p><p>Hawkeye crossed her arms thoughtfully and Roy could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “No. It was just strange, is all. I’d like to ask what was bothering him at the least.”</p><p>He could see the reasoning behind it. If they started to press, Ed might clam up and not say a word. But why would he have lied?</p><p>And what would it have been about? Based on what Hawkeye had just told him, it would’ve been needing to catch a train out of town, but he might not have been going back to the west. There was a chance he simply had errands to run or was whipping through town on his way to annoy the living daylights out of his brother or Winry.</p><p>Roy nodded. “He calls in often enough. I can weasel some information out of him the next time he does.”</p><p>“Right. Okay.” The tension in her shoulders didn’t fully leave, but the grip it held over her dissipated in fragments. Her hands were still rather twitchy, but the frown became lenient, dipping towards neutrality and her signature brand of clam.</p><p>The sounds of her work became less erratic after that and Roy could only hope that their idiot kid decided to toss them a bone soon.</p><p>He trudged right along through his work and frequently checked the clock. The clock that absolutely must be broken because it took an eternity for the minute hand to pass the hour. His thoughts began to run away from him after thirty-some-odd signatures and he fell into a more manageable rhythm.</p><p>Only occasionally did he refocus on the pages, deeming very few actually necessary to fully read and dropkicking caution into the outfield where the wind quickly swept it away. In short, he was doing exactly what he always did.</p><p>A few reports caught his attention, but aside from that, Roy had mostly been saddled with forms from the quartermaster that were awaiting approval. New clips, updated gear, cold-weather equipment and other painfully mundane things. It simply went on like that for a good while, his work eating through the morning and well into the evening.</p><p>He went home with a stiff crick in his neck and <em>maybe</em> carpal tunnel syndrome. The whole while, all the way up until midnight when he relented to the charms of sleep, Roy replayed Hawkeye’s words, trying to puzzle out the admittedly strange behaviour from Ed. He wrote himself a note to check in with Al just in case something was wrong and face-planted into a pillow.</p><p>As luck (or misfortune, depending on who you asked) would have it, the shrill cry of a phone cut through the scratching of pens against paper in the late afternoon the next day. He grabbed it on the third ring, opening his mouth to rattle off his usual greeting, but was cut off before the words ever sprouted in his mind.</p><p>“<em>Hey Colonel</em>.”</p><p>Roy sighed and <em>accidentally</em> purged his promise to Hawkeye from the previous morning. “Brigadier General.” The man corrected halfheartedly. He heard a quick puff of laugher from Ed and took back every thought of concern he’d had in the past few hours.</p><p>“<em>I don’t care</em>.” He replied, sugary sweet like arsenic and hydrochloric acid brewed into a coffee. <em>Fucking deadly.</em></p><p>“What do you need, Fullmetal?” He made sure the exasperation charged all the way through the line and cuffed Ed upside the head. Proverbial, but the blow would still land nonetheless. Ed didn’t seem to care about the energy Roy was putting into his frustration. Didn’t even acknowledge it, the prick.</p><p>“<em>Well I’m here to give you the obligatory warning that you’ve got a tornado coming your way.</em>” His voice carried the essence of a shit-eating grin and equal parts dread and anticipation sparked in the older man. Ed’s visits tended to be chaotic, but it was a welcome change from the monotony of Eastern Command on the daily. Additionally, there was no one else in the world who was as entertaining to trade verbal blows with as Ed. Roy knew exactly how to piss the younger off and the blond would alway respond in kind. It was… fun? Yeah. Fun.</p><p>“Biblical?” He asked warily.</p><p>“<em>Alway!</em>”</p><p>“When’re you getting into town? I need to get sandbags so you can’t break all the windows.” The brat had the nerve to snicker at the sound of Roy’s hand thumping against his mountain of papers.</p><p>“<em>I’m gonna break them anyways. And I’ll be there in five days.</em>”</p><p>“Speaking of you being here, I’m a bit offended you didn’t come by the other day.”</p><p>“<em>…what?</em>”</p><p>“The Lieutenant informed me that you were in East City for a night. You know you’re welcome to crash at Havoc’s when you need to.”</p><p>“Hey! I can hear you!” Came an indigent shout from beyond the door.</p><p>“<em>I—huh?</em>” The playful jabs faded, Ed sounded genuinely confused. “<em>What’re you talking about?</em>”</p><p>“She…” Roy pushed down the nerves that had sparked at the back of his neck. He saw his door being eased open by Hawkeye, silently asking for permission to enter. The dark haired man waved her inside. “She ran into you earlier.” He said slowly.</p><p>“<em>I haven’t been to East City in months</em>.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>Okay, well. That was… bad.</p><p>His brain started to sprint, a half dozen conclusions laid out for him to jump to and none of them spelled anything good.</p><p>A stern look from Hawkeye kept his temper in check and he tried again, firing up the friendly mocking once more to brush away the sobriety Ed had fallen into. Mostly for his own sake as the first hints of discomfort had started tugging gently in his gut. “Oh come on. Don’t play dumb Fullmetal. I’ve got my eyewitness and everything.”</p><p>“<em>I’m not playing dumb!</em>” Ed exclaimed. He was sincere and it startled Roy. “<em>I’ve been hitchhiking along the Cretan boarder for, like, three weeks. I just got to Dublith yesterday.</em>”</p><p>He paused for a long moment, gaze darting up to meet Hawkeye’s. His eyes were bright with alarm. She stiffened.</p><p>“<em>Colonel?</em>” Ed asked. It wasn’t nervousness that coloured his voice... no, it was something thinner, pulled tightly from his throat. It was acerbity.</p><p>Roy picked up his pen and started to scrawl out a message, glancing around the room as a bone-deep paranoia that he’d never really buried came clawing up his back. “How soon can you get here?”</p><p>He slid the paper to Hawkeye and immediately slipped his hand beneath his desk, feeling for an out of place bump or a hole that shouldn’t be there. His hand’s quickly fluttered around the drawers before he looked to the ceiling with trepidation. How many bugs could be planted in all those light fixtures?</p><p>“<em>Wha—I don’t know. Two days?</em>”</p><p>“Than be here in two days.” He barked. Ed was quiet for a moment.</p><p>“<em>Okay</em>.”</p><p>Roy slammed down the receiver and looked to Hawkeye urgently. He didn’t say a word, but he tapped his hand against the desk twice. A long pause. Four more taps and a quick drag over the wood.</p><p>“I believe there are a few train stations due for a checkup.” He said carefully. Her posture was ridged and she nodded.</p><p>The two exited his office into the general space.</p><p>“I’ll be giving you all the rest of the day off.” He announced. Four heads shot up attentively.</p><p>“Boss?” Havoc watched him critically. Breda and Falman were exchanging curious looks, one that rapidly became more akin to suspicion. Feury seemed to grasp the words quickest, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. Roy held up his hand, thumb pressed to his palm.</p><p>
  <em>B.</em>
</p><p>“Tomorrow we’ll be doing routine check-ins with train stations throughout the east.” His hand curled into a fist, his thumb resting on the outside of his knuckles.</p><p>
  <em>A.</em>
</p><p>“Take tonight to yourselves. Nothing <em>work-related</em>.” He stressed the last words, meeting each of their eyes while his middle and index fingers crossed.</p><p>
  <em>R.</em>
</p><p>“Sir.” They chorused and promptly began to collect their things, not even trading whispers. Roy was suddenly very grateful that they had all earned a steadfast streak of dubiousness and paranoia after the events of the Promised Day.</p><p>It was sort of comforting to know that they wouldn’t question his own suspicions until it was safe. From the corner of his eye, Roy saw Hawkeye snap a pen in half and let the ink run over the message he’d written.</p><p><em>Off the books</em>.</p><p>She tore it into ribbons and dropped them into a waste bin with indifference. He would have to check over the office later for transmitters when the place wasn’t still being circled by military personnel.</p><p>Three hours later they were seated in the back corner of Madame Christmas’ bar, not a uniform or drink in sight. They filed in one at a time and silently took a place at the table tucked away in the back corner. Of course, it was Havoc who dropped his six feet of bad habits and smoke onto his chair and hissed. “What’s going on?”</p><p>He expected nothing less. Roy motioned to Hawkeye. “Go ahead.”</p><p>“There’s someone posing as Edward.”</p><p>“What?!” They all cried, damn near synchronized in the shout. Roy winced and glared at them with a very distinct <em>please dear god lower your voices</em> gleam burning through his eyes. They settled but didn’t let up. “What do you mean <em>posing</em>?” Breda inquired, arms crossing.</p><p>“Someone who looked and sounded almost exactly like him was in East City yesterday.” Roy said swiftly. “I got a call from Ed saying that he hasn’t been here in a long while.”</p><p>Fuery was squinting at the two, mouth twisted into a frown. “How do you know it was him? Couldn’t it have been a mistake?” Hawkeye send him a wonderfully deadpan look and the younger held up his hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is that you seem awfully frantic over what might just be a misunderstanding.”</p><p>“No. He knew who I was. Talked to me and said my name.” The blonde woman folded her arms. “And how many people do you think there are that look the same and have a prothetic leg?”</p><p>“How could you tell?”</p><p>“The way he was holding his weight was a dead giveaway.”</p><p>Fuery sat back, hands drumming over the table. Havoc and Breda traded a look. “So…” Breda started mildly, poorly masking how he was picking his words all dainty and careful-like. “You brought us here to tell us this <em>why</em>?”</p><p>“Because last time there were doubles running around the whole damn military had guns to our heads.” He snapped.</p><p>“Fair enough.”</p><p>Havoc looked uncomfortable, a hand rubbing subconsciously at his stomach where there still laid a pair of scars from their <em>fun</em> little encounter with Lust. He could hear the thought being shot outward, slowly sinking into the rest of the team. Havoc grimaced. “You mean there might be—“</p><p>“Another homunculus, yeah. That’s the only possibility right now.” The shockwave blasted through the group, stunning silence chasing down the admission.</p><p>Roy forced himself to stay collected. A mighty task, all things considered, and with all his subordinates looking to him expectantly it was a hard order to fill. He pulled a small pile of papers from the folds of his jacket and passed them around, giving each a moment to read over Hawkeye’s report. He watched their expressions shift and curl, eyes narrowing and widening in concert. He’d felt the same thing when he’d looked over the neat handwriting and felt a chasm open in the back of his head where <em>peace of mind</em> fell down into, never to be seen again.</p><p>
  <em>(Seen near East City train station at roughly seven-thirty AM. Responded to the name “Edward”.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Notable differences:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Missing scar over left eyebrow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thinner, shorter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Marks—possibly scars—over left shoulder and neck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Favoured right arm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Didn’t address by rank.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shorter hair.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Old clothes.</em>
</p><p><em>Small briefcase.</em>)</p><p>“What the hell.” Breda gripped the paper tightly. Falman matched his expression, troubled and lost. They all looked baffled.</p><p>Roy steeled himself before speaking again. “We’ll need to look into this under the radar. Report to me in private and be on the lookout for any other doppelgängers.” They nodded in response.</p><p>Then, collectively, his team deflated. Havoc’s head thumped against the table with a heavy groan. “I thought we were done with all this crazy shit.”</p><p>“Me too. But fate says otherwise.”</p><p>“Fuck fate. I wanna retire.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His heart squeezed at the sound of her voice.</p><p>“<em>Ed</em>?” Winry asked drowsily. “<em>It’s like… five in the morning.</em>”</p><p>“Yeah. Sorry.” God, he sounded so plain. It was better than sobbing out the words, he supposed, but the way his voice hitched on every consonant made him wince.</p><p>“<em>Why’re you calling?</em>” She mumbled and it struck him across the face like a sledgehammer. Something was wrong. She hadn’t been surprised to hear him. That wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. Something is really wrong.</p><p>“I—“</p><p>He heard the shifting of cloth, and the faint squeak of mattress strings, just barely filtering across the line. Edward’s chest caved and his head spun. “<em>I thought your train didn’t get to Dublith for another few hours. Did you get delayed or something</em>?”</p><p>It all came crashing down. Edward slowly peered out to look up at the stars. The ones that had only just started to fade to the whims of daylight and the ground might as well have opened up to swallow him.</p><p>They were crooked. Edward couldn’t find a single constellation, not a planet or galaxy among the sky. It was all misaligned. Distorted and <em>wrong</em>. He slowly let the phone drop, still clutched in his right hand with a crushing grip. It took all his self control not to break in in two.</p><p>“<em>Ed? You there?</em>”</p><p>“Shit…<em>no</em>…” He breathed.</p><p>The dizziness was back and ready to bowl him over. Edward felt his blood start to curdle, slowing to a crawl, shooting pins and needles through his entire body. The ghosting sensation even managed to dance along his false limbs and he damn near started laughing again.</p><p>
  <em>For fucks sake.</em>
</p><p>He’d done it again.</p><p>“<em>Hey you jerk, what’s going on!? You woke me up for—</em>“ The phone hit the cradle, cutting off whatever she was going to say. She probably would've yelled at him. It didn’t matter. This was all wrong anyways.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p><p>Edward stumbled out of the booth and looked around. Maybe someone would jump out and laugh like this was all some big joke. It certainly felt like one. A sick, disturbed, twisted joke that only Truth or something just a cruel would find funny.</p><p>He sat down hard at the side of the road, numb and aching at the same time. What the hell should he do? Edward gripped the fabric of his collar fiercely, curling in on himself. He felt like screaming until his lungs were gone. Or setting the whole world ablaze. Because somehow, through some wicked twists of fate or maybe at the hand of a sadist, he’d managed to do it again.</p><p>Another goddamn world. And this time it was… it was <em>worse</em>.</p><p>Everything was the same. It was cruel beyond words and Edward punched the concrete hard enough to feel his knuckles split open.</p><p>“Damnit.” He spat. “<em>Damnit</em>.”</p><p>Edward wandered for hours, aimless and dazed. He felt like he was trapped in one of those surrealist films that used to blow through town every now and again. It ran on dream logic and always had some kind of nightmarish left turn, no matter how innocent or cheery the opening moments seemed.</p><p>The sun had graced him with its disorientating warmth, spilling orange over the dulled city as it slowly came to life. He was grateful for the return to form. Being alone was hellish.</p><p>The presence of others at least served to keep him present, forcing concentration into the simple task of not running into anyone, methodically finding his way through the maze of identical streets. He recognized landmarks and shops, some in the right place and other’s skewed just a little to one side. No faces stood out as ones he knew, thankfully.</p><p>Edward had never tasted this particular flavour discomfort and he wished he could spit it out. Maybe wash it down with a mouthful of whiskey. Or vinegar. It could be bleach, for all he cared. As long as it stole away the lump lodged in his throat and chased the shaking in his hands. It was like he’d stepped right into the uncanny valley and there’d been a city, ready and waiting to drive him mad.</p><p>He moved onward, no clear destination in mind other than the distant thought of sleep. He didn’t have money for an inn, nor any valuables to barter with. Maybe he could hitch a ride on the back of a train? He’d done it plenty before and it would get him away from all the sickeningly familiar architecture and the threat of his body collapsing from sheer shock. He was being senseless, but couldn’t pool enough thought into the logical part of his mind to find fault. All things considered, it was better to jump at every sound rather than let a bo—<em>something</em> drop on his head.</p><p>Edward was also being cautious. He had no way to know what things were like here, other than that there was already a version of him. Edward would need to be mindful of what he says in general. Or, better yet, he could just stay quiet and try to figure this out behind the scenes.</p><p>He dodged a pair of young girls, laughing and skipping down the road without a care. It was so thoroughly foreign to him. The thought of little kids being allowed to walk around had grown itself a vineyard on the horizon, stuck there just beyond the reach of reason and hope.</p><p>Curfew alone had been enough for parents to lock their sons and daughters inside most hours. A petty gale of wind pulled at his clothes lightly, reminding him that yes, he <em>was</em> still on the sidewalk and no, he <em>couldn’t</em> freeze up and be dragged into memories whenever he pleased.</p><p>At least East City was a strange enough place that no one would think twice about an air-headed kid pausing in a daydream. If only that’s what it had been. A daydream.</p><p>If only.</p><p>Edward squared his shoulders and continued.</p><p>He spotted a few slashes of navy blue and did his best to ignore the erratic swell of panic that sped through his veins.</p><p>East City was a big enough place though, right? What’re the chances he runs into someone that recognizes him?</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>He’s a needle in a haystack. He’s hiding in plain sight and the odds of him seeing someone, whether it be a friend or an enemy, was slim.</p><p>“Edward?”</p><p>Or not.</p><p>He froze, hearing a pair of booted feet tap over the ground, stilling behind him. Edward hesitated for a long (too long) moment before turning to see the bright and ever-sharp face of Riza Hawkeye.</p><p>It was like a punch to the gut. Right through his stomach, spiking through to his back was a violent flare. He plastered a small smile over the grimace.</p><p>“Lieu—“ His eyes strayed to her shoulders where the stripes of her position would sit. They were covered by a dark jacket. Crap. What’s her rank here?</p><p>Edward floundered for a brief moment. “Hawkeye,” He settled on. Edward winced at the unsure tone colouring his words bright red. He should’ve just put a bullseye on his forehead, that would’ve been less suspicious. She raised a delicate eyebrow at Edward curiously and the smile she offered pained every inch of his person. His side clenched again.</p><p>If Hawkeye noticed his apprehension, she did one hell of a job feigning ignorance. Maybe she’d purchased the rights to that particular look of neutrality. How else would it fit over her face so seamlessly?</p><p>“It’s good to see you, I thought you were still out west…?” She let the question hang in the air. Edward stapled on the friendliest, more unchallenging grin he could and hoped whatever bullshit came from the floodgates didn’t damn him to another end with lead in his chest.</p><p>“Just passing though. One night layover for the trains.” He’d narrowed this brand of casual innocence to a damn science and she appeared to take it at face value.</p><p>Which… was almost <em>more</em> concerning because if he knew anything about Hawkeye, it was that her mind worked on a dozen things at a time and could pull details from a memory ten years old like a magician whipping a rabbit out of a top-hat.Edward decided to count his blessings and barrel through like a graceless fool because, if not that, than what the hell was he?</p><p>Hawkeye’s face flickered with fondness.</p><p>(It hurt.)</p><p>“You should’ve come by the office. It’s been a few months and everyone would like to see you.”</p><p>He forced out a chuckle. “Right, sorry. It kinda slipped my mind.” </p><p>Her eyes were wandering away from his face and <em>oh no that was way too close to—</em></p><p>His hand flew up to his collar, pulling it up and over the marks on his left shoulder, creeping from under his shirt and licking up his neck. Hawkeye’s demeanour shifted immediately and Edward eyed her hands, half expecting them to dart to the holster at her back.</p><p>She didn’t reach for her weapon, but she did look at him a touch more critically. “Ed? Are you—“ Her shoes brushed the concrete and trepidation backhanded him hard enough to make him step away in turn.</p><p>“Just a bit tired.” Edward assured hurriedly.</p><p>He pulled the sleeves of his jacket down over the false skin of his right arm. The motion was simple and nonchalant but Hawkeye was watching him like a… hawk.</p><p>“Are you alright?” She asked plainly. He didn’t flinch at her words, but his feet were itching to move.</p><p>Edward waved her off and let another lie slip out. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry about not visiting though. I didn’t think I’d have time.”</p><p>He wanted to hit something.</p><p>Her eyes softened from bronze to copper, only in increments of worry but he could see it nonetheless. It was the exact same as it always was. The only difference was a faint scar carved an inch below her eye. Edward wondered momentarily if this world’s version of his had any blemishes that Edward lacked. “You could make up for it now.” She suggested, nodding towards the road leading back to headquarters. “It was going to be a slow day for us anyways.”</p><p>“I—I can’t. There’s a train leaving soon and I don’t… I can’t be stuck here for too long, you know?” He stumbled through the excuse. The copper lessened further, dissolving to a a more pliable material that he couldn’t place. Like, pinewood or something. It was pleasant and<em> dear god</em> it made the scar running through him start to squirm.</p><p>“Alright. You come see us soon, okay?” She touched his shoulder lightly. Nostalgia or melancholy had tinted her features with a rounded kindness. He bit the inside of his cheek, dragging another strained smile onto his face.</p><p>“Of course. I uh, I have to head off.”</p><p>“Go ahead. Be safe out there!” She waved to him as he stumbled back, haphazardly returning the gesture as he took long strides into the crowd.</p><p>As soon as Edward was out of eyeshot, he broke into a dead sprint towards the train station. It was bustling with people and every flicker of Amestrian blues sent him reeling. He didn’t bother masking the panic spilling down his back anymore, it didn’t matter much anyways. Every odd look he might’ve got would be eternally trumped by the proverbial bottom line that was tacked onto this whole situation: that he had to leave. <em>Now</em>.</p><p>Edward caught sight of a train peeling away from the platform, wheels catching against the rails with a piercing screech.</p><p>Edward ran, skipping along the walkway and latching onto the back railing before it sped away. He hid in the storage car, tucked behind a mountain of suitcases and boxes. Edward leaned his head back against the wood with a weary sigh. The throbbing in his chest had dulled to a churning buzz, still firing over his ribs and through his lungs at random, but more manageable.</p><p>He sunk down lower, head buried in his arms, focussing solely on the steady <em>ba-thump</em> of the train running over the misaligned tracks and the gentle rumblings of the cargo around him. It was a rhythm; a heartbeat; a replacement for his own because it wouldn’t stop shuddering.</p><p>Edward’s hands tangled into his hair and he swore under his breath. <em>She saw him.</em></p><p>She saw him and talked to him and knew something was wrong. Maybe not anything big, but he had seen the suspicion chipping away at her careful smile. The inflection poisoning her syllable’s was still ringing in his ear. He hissed in frustration, hands curling around his knees.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Salute-Mouton</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Mentions of alcohol. Brief discussion of canon character death. Disassociation and mild panic attacks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Edward jumped off the train after about five hours.</p><p>Literally, he jumped. Rolling to a stop, brushing off the dirt clinging to his clothes and glancing around the space to be sure no one had seen his little stunt. The only faces he saw were those of cows and goats milling about behind a series of wooden posts and twisted wire cords. Edward followed the fence until it opened up to a dirt road meandering through the countryside. He relished the smell of clean air.</p><p>He never knew the absence of smoke tinging his breath would be so exhilarating, hardly having noticed how used he had been to inhaling smog and debris until the sun-golden fields of wheat rustled and dug the grime out of his throat. Edward damn near started choking on the taste of clear skies.</p><p>A bee flittered past him to burrow into lilacs sprouting along the path and it felt impossible. The bright colour itself seemed unnatural after so long spent in a grey-stained city where the only saturation was bled from red posters and the wilting flower pots, watered with vinegar by police and patriots.</p><p>Here the grass was vibrant, almost neon instead of twisted into a dark, sickly green. Edward waved to a family working in a field as he approached a small village nestled into the rolling hills. It was like a postcard; done up in pastels and rich with a sense of ease. The stone-paved streets made him more uncomfortable than he would ever understand.</p><p>Maybe it was how familiar the town square looked. How easily he could picture a platform standing in the centre. With paper tags. And ropes. Maybe the smell of decay lingering—</p><p>He bit his lip hard to draw himself back to the present.</p><p>The marks in his pocket were easy enough to transmute into cenz. He apologized internally when he handed the counterfeit bills to a middle-aged innkeeper, smiling through the deception. He didn’t have much of a choice anyways. It was either paying with fake cash or spending (another) night huddled under a bridge and just this once, Edward sincerely needed a bed.</p><p>“You’re welcome to the tavern as well.” The clerk told him cheerily. “You get a free meal for every night you stay.”</p><p>The blond smiled through the hard pinches at his side, flipping the grimace into something more friendly. “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.” Edward bowed his head and hurried down the hallway to the fifth door on the right.</p><p>He was glad the washrooms were private because it took all of two minutes for his chest to seize and his stomach lurched. He coughed up bile until his throat was raw and the thought of food made him physically repulsed.</p><p>Edward collapsed onto the little bed pressed against a shuttered widow.</p><p>He managed to shed his jacket and over-shirt, draping both over the table sitting parallel to the doorway. Edward didn’t move from the bed for hours. He didn’t sleep at all, but instead to lay there, sprawled out atop the sheets with a quilt pulled up to his nose and soaking in the feeling of an actual goddamn mattress beneath him.</p><p>One that wasn’t threadbare, worn down so much that the springs cut into his back if he rolled the wrong way and a blanket that he didn’t have to shake the dust out of every day or so. The phantom pains drilling through his wound were bearable, but it made him ache terribly.</p><p>Edward didn’t get sick again, but he certainly felt like he would.</p><p>Forcing little sips of water between his lips was like a game of roulette with his health weighing in as the collateral. Edward kept it down and his head started too clear. The debilitating nausea had retreated by the time the sun hugged the tops of the buildings. Early evening, he guessed. Edward dragged himself out of bed and doused his clothes in a sink full of water, lathered them in soap and scrubbed away at the dirt until his fingers felt numb and blistered.</p><p>With a clap they were dried and the feeling of clean material was downright insulting in its pleasantness. The brilliant buzzing of alchemy was <em>even better</em>. He silently promised himself to practice as much as he could. Even if it was only to prove he was in Amestris.</p><p>To prove he was safe. <em>Alone.</em></p><p>There was still dirt on his hands; stuck under his nails; stamped into his skin no matter how long he scoured. Edward stopped before he accidentally tore off a nail in his desperation to get rid of the cursed stuff. The cheap bar of soap was whittled to a sliver and Edward hoped the staff wouldn’t hold it against him.</p><p>“What’ll it be?” The waiter asked when he slid onto a stool.</p><p>“Uh, the innkeeper said—“</p><p>The young man waved, smiling lightly. “Got it. Hotel special. Hope you like mushrooms ‘cause that’s the soup of the day.”</p><p>A few minutes later a steaming bowl of bisque was in front of him along with a side of rolls. It was a touch pathetic how Edward almost melted at the sight of a hot meal. Had his pride not held sentimentality at gunpoint, he might’ve fallen right over and smiled into the floorboards like an idiot.</p><p>The waiter leaned down, looking at Edward critically. He did his best to ignore it.<br/>“I don’t mean to be nosy,” The man started hesitantly, “but—shit, I mean… if you need someone to fix up your hair a little, my sister wouldn’t mind.”</p><p>Edwards hand flew up to the back of his neck, self consciousness spreading through him. The waiter gazed at him with guilt written across his face. Edward <em>knew</em> what it looked like: choppy, rough, and split. It hung in a dirty curtain just above his shoulders when he didn’t have the mind to tie it back. Part of him—a very simple and juvenile part—was still a upset over the loss.</p><p>Which was stupid, wasn’t it?</p><p>It was just hair, after all. It would grow. And it wasn’t as through it had been buzzed down to his scalp. He tugged at the ends and avoided the waiter’s eyes.</p><p>The man flushed and threw up his hands defensively. “Sorry! I just noticed it was a bit off is all. I don’t mean to offend or nothing.”</p><p>Edward shrugged in response. He knew no harm was meant by the comment. Still made his fragile dignity shutter, though. “It’s fine. I’m trying to let it grow out.”</p><p>“O-of course! I’m sure you’ll look sharp when it’s how you want it.” The man beamed at him sheepishly. Edward offered a weak smile in kind.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>The waiter left him alone after that.</p><p>Edward inhaled his food and disappeared back into his room for the night. Apparently living off of rations and tobacco leaves means eating a full meal is a rather touchy procedure. Edward couldn’t quite keep it down.</p><p>Which really was tragic because it was easily the best thing he’d had in months.</p><p>The bar was on the ground, but regardless it was a damn shame.</p><p>Edward had yet to full process the whirlwind of events that had just befallen him in rapid succession, much less figure out a plan for what to do next.</p><p>Logic told him to keep moving, to stay away from the towns and cities he’d been in and try to unravel the thread that seemed intent on dragging through any hell it could find. Nostalgia and exhaustion begged him to settle into a sleepy little area and keep his head low. Maybe somewhere close to Resembool; close to <em>home</em>—</p><p>He slapped himself.</p><p>“Nope. None of that.” He declared aloud, dropping down onto his bed and downing a miracle in pill-form. It had him drifting into sleep within minutes.</p><p>Edward woke up four times through the night. The first was panicked and bleary. Waking up in an unfamiliar place was <em>bad</em> and the fact that he had no idea what woke him up was worse.</p><p>His initial thought was a bunker, but it was too bright for that. Too dry and silent. Then his mind screamed <em>prison</em>. It took two minutes of stiff, uncertain terror for the memories to crash down over him and Edward fell back with a sigh. The second and third were both due to dreams.</p><p>Not nightmares, per-say, but visions that he knew were fake.</p><p>An old theatre, fully intact and occupied by a red haired child, a young woman splattered with paints and a man with a bright, wolfish grin. There weren’t any bullet holes riddling the walls or broken glass on the floor. The paint hadn’t been peeled away by heat. Even the catwalk that balanced above the stage was strung back up, hefting spotlights and wires between the railings.</p><p>There weren’t empty bottles of liquor strewn about and, awful as that was, it was their absence that gave it away.</p><p>It had to be fake.</p><p>He opened his eyes and all he could feel was disappointment.</p><p>The fourth time, Edward had been woken up by a loud bang from outside. In the hallway, something had knocked heavily against his door and the blond bolted upright, coiling tightly and reaching blindly for the briefcase settled at the foot of his bed.</p><p>He crept forward, flicking the safety off his pistol and pressing an ear against the door.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>“One too many drinks, huh Linnie?” He heard a voice mutter.</p><p>“Maybe.” Someone responded. Edward sagged with relief and did his best to ignore the fervent panic that was still shooting through him, discarding the gun into the bottom of his belongings.</p><p>He’d overreacted. That was all.</p><p>He jumped to conclusions.</p><p>That was <em>all</em>.</p><p>(The magazine is still half full.)</p><p>The next day he left before the sun was up, dropping the keys on the front desk and slipping past the clerk with feather-light footsteps. He drudged along the same sweeping, beaten road he’d come in on until a carriage came rumbling from behind him.</p><p>Edward paused at the crease between dirt and grasslands, holding out his thumb and smiling politely when the driver extended his hand and pull Edward into the back.</p><p>He made small talk with the man’s family and let his daughter weave dandelions into his hair. It wasn’t long enough for a real braid, but tiny plaits would work just fine.</p><p>“It matches!” She announced, tugging on her fathers sleeve and pointing. “Gold on gold!”</p><p>Edward smiled and from the corner of his eye, he saw the driver blanch. His hair had been tugged up and away from his neck. He knew exactly what the man was staring at.</p><p>“You did a great job.” Edward told the girl. She beamed.</p><p>He hopped off the wagon less than an hour later and tore the flowers out before his stomach could squeeze its way up his throat. With a heavy sigh, he started to walk again. Hitchhiking might prove to be more problematic than he’d anticipated. No matter, he had plenty of experience traveling by foot. Walking would be a change, though.</p><p>Usually he had to run.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Counterfeit?” Roy leaned back to gaze at the map Havoc had sprawled out over his kitchen table.</p><p>The man had showed up unannounced and looking more energetic than usual, his signature cigarette missing from his lips, the stench of old ink and yellowing paper rolling off him.</p><p>He’d pushed right past Roy and wielded a big red marker like a circus act, scrawling two dots over the map and launching into a rambling spiel about his findings.</p><p>“Yeah. The day Hawkeye saw the other Ed, someone matching the description showed up in a little village to the south. Stayed one night at the inn then skipped town.”</p><p>“Why are we just getting the report now?”</p><p>Havoc shrugged. “The innkeeper didn’t notice it was fake until a few days later.”</p><p>“Fuery still tapping the phone lines to the MPs?” He asked. The blond man nodded in response.</p><p>“Yeah and other than <em>this</em>, we’ve caught wind of exactly jack shit.”</p><p>Roy sighed.</p><p>Sure, it had only been a few days since their revelation about the Elric double, but the lack in findings was making his anxieties skyrocket. It might hit a bird or the moon at this rate.</p><p>He wasn’t prone to being shakable. Not a lot could earn worry from Roy, much less actual fear. But the last time there was a shapeshifter Hughes got a bullet to the chest. Roy would readily admit that the situation was wailing at him constantly. He was <em>scared</em>. For his subordinates, for his friends, for Alphonse, Winry and Edward.</p><p>He’d done a piss-poor job covering it up too, openly flaunting how eager he was for leads and demanding frequent updates from his team. They hardly needed to be told though; all of them were as antsy as he was. At least there came the slight measure of comfort found in the fact that Ed should be arriving today.</p><p>Roy studied the map. The first mark was on East City, the second on Ruel, a pint-sized town with more cows than people. There wasn’t any immediately apparent reason as to why that particular location had been chosen, but at least it was close enough that the imposter couldn’t have gotten too far without using the trains.</p><p>And he hadn’t.</p><p>Hawkeye and Falman spent two days calling into every station in the east under the guise of routine checkups. They would slip in a request to know of any suspicious behaviour, casting a wide enough net to unbury bottom feeders, but every time they’d hung up empty handed and frustrated. Not a whiff or hint of a blond kid with fake limbs.</p><p>“What about Breda?”</p><p>“Still trying to screen investigations.” Havoc drummed his fingers against the table. The alchemist turned away, making a straight dive for the pot of coffee that was tempting him to stay awake until sunrise. “When’s everyone else getting here?” He asked.</p><p>Roy’s apartment had quickly become the designated conspiracy-cracking-zone, as it was the only accommodations that was both spacious enough to host everyone at once and wasn’t in the dorms. He’d spent a full six hours pulling apart the ceiling tiles and turning over furniture, scanning a careful eye over every inch until he was certain there weren’t any bugs.</p><p>He was well aware that it was a drastic reaction, but he didn’t care one iota when a mistake could lead to another friend being lowered into a six-foot hole. It was a constant balancing act between diligence and obsession and Roy had two goddamn left feet. It was impossible to toe the line, but he was making due so far.</p><p>“Soon. Half an hour at most.”</p><p>“Sweet.” A new voice said and Roy damn near jumped out of his skin. He definitely spilled most of his drink.</p><p>There goes his balance, skewing hard to one side and he’ll go tumbling off the high-wire.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Fullmetal!” He yelped indigently. Havoc had toppled right out of his chair and lay sprawled on the floor. They both stared at the newcomer, slack jawed and a touch miffed.</p><p>Ed grinned at him. “You door was unlocked.”</p><p>“You could’ve <em>knocked</em>.”</p><p>The younger waved him off. “<em>Pfft</em>, nah. So why’d you drag me all the way back to East City?”</p><p>“He just walked in…” Havoc mused weakly, dumbfounded and looking rather dazed. Roy wondered how badly the poor idiot had smacked his head this time. All the bumps and bruises would catch up eventually, maybe Ed’s vanishing act would be what finally broke him.</p><p>Ed was giving him a curious look, irritation dashed about his face for good measure. The dark haired man dropped a wad of paper towels onto his tragically spilled coffee, and gestured to the table.</p><p>“Might wanna sit down for this one.”</p><p>When he and Havoc finished the speed run of the recent events, Ed just looked exasperated. The kind of <em>I’m done</em> expression that usually stitched itself a home on the faces of single parents and schoolroom teachers.</p><p>It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected from the younger, but seeing as Ed’s life has been a consistent stream of horror-packaged whimsy doused in alchemic ciphers and global-scale calamity being handed to him like a lightning rod in the middle of a hurricane, it wasn’t too surprising. In short, the kid had seen it all and wasn’t about to be all that fazed by a doppelgänger. Especially not when they already had the firm belief of what they were dealing with.</p><p>“So you think there’s another homunculus?” Ed asked, driving out a heavy sigh.</p><p>They nodded. “Not sure what else it could be. Unless you’ve got family we don’t know about.”</p><p>Ed made good use of both middle fingers, a demonic smile playing over his face for a split second before sobering. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at the two officers. “Is it possible she just mistook someone else for me?”</p><p><br/>“She’d break your foot for that one.” Havoc choked on a laugh, lightly kicking Ed’s metal shin with a low metallic shriek. “And, you know, she’s not called the <em>Hawk’s Eye</em> for nothing.”</p><p>“Point taken. So all we’ve got is the Lieutenant’s account, a few witnesses at a train station, and fake cash?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>Ed rocked back on his chair, swaying dangerously but somehow not tipping over. He stared at the ceiling, contemplative whilst his brain revved and took off, racing towards ten million possibilities Roy had never even started to consider. Whether he could do alchemy or not was irrelevant; Ed’s still a goddamn genius and it felt unfair at times that the brat and his brother could give him a thorough verbal beating in alchemic theory <em>alone</em>. At least it could work in their favour now.</p><p>His dignity had resigned to sleeping in a gutter anyways. Figuring this out was leagues more important than his precious ego.</p><p>“I don’t think we should assume this guy is like Envy. Not entirely, anyways.” Ed let the legs of his chair rest back on the floor. “That would mean there’s another blob with a god complex. And if they’re some kind of shape shifter, why use me?”</p><p>Roy could tell where he was headed with this. He folded his armed and jumped in. “Better question: Why look <em>different</em>?”</p><p>“Exactly.” Ed pulled a paper from his jacket, the sheet seeming to materialize out of nothing, and plucked the red mark from where it sat tucked behind Havoc’s ear.</p><p>The younger started to draw something out carefully. Roy leaned in to watch in time with Havoc. The lines formed a circle, looping in on itself a few times and scrawled over with writing.</p><p>He had to bite back a small huff of bitterness because <em>dear god</em> was the stupid array perfect. Effortless and debilitatingly easy when drawn by Ed’s own hands, but a nightmare for anyone else.</p><p>The blond tapped the marker against the corner. “In theory, you could build a physical replica of someone. Like a puppet or something. Not <em>perfect</em> like the crazies we were up against, but functional so long as there’s energy circulating.”</p><p>“In <em>theory</em>, yeah. But that could make the alchemist powering it comatose. Besides, if there was a person skilled enough to do that, we would’ve heard of them by now.” He retorted, pulling the paper from underneath Ed’s palm to look closer at it. The circle was similar to the one used for human transmutation, but it was altered. Shifted and adjusted to the exact degree it would take to build an animated body, a soulless puppet with an energy source.</p><p>And the brat had done it <em>on the fly</em>.</p><p>Though it had never really been done in practice, it was quite possible that an alchemist could power one of these dolls like how Ed had been fueling Al’s blood steal with energy for years. Like gasoline on a flame, the blond had been trading sleep and growth for energy like a walking battery.</p><p>“Marcoh was MIA for, what, five years? Teacher stayed under the radar almost her whole life. It’s not impossible.”</p><p>Havoc was glaring at them both. “Hey, normie here! I don’t speak <em>alchemy jargon</em> so could you dumb it down a bit?”</p><p>“Fake body, no soul. Powered by one person. Potentially a rebound and that’s why the double looks different.” Ed paused, glancing over the dark haired alchemist currently trying not to let his ego get bruised too badly. “Did the Lieutenant mention anything about scarring? Most rebounds are like burns…” His had drifted up towards his shoulder with a frown.</p><p>Roy blinked, then bolted to the living room where he’d left the report, digging it out of a rapidly accumulating list of false inspections to file. He scanned the words, falling back into his chair. Two pairs of eyes were watching him, one exasperated and one sternly set to problem-solving mode.</p><p><em>“Marks—possibly scars—over left shoulder and neck.” </em>He read aloud.</p><p>“Five points to Elric.” Ed murmured absently, taking the reported from Roy. He silently read it, mouthing the words to himself while his brow furrowed.</p><p>“This guy is <em>somehow</em> shorter than you.” Roy smirked, watching the blond’s carefully constructed frown build up, a violent glare in his golden eyes.</p><p>“I didn’t know you wanted a broken neck, Colonel.” Ed said mildly, letting the paper flutter down onto the table and crackling his knuckles with casual malice. Roy was rescued from the threat of a black eye by a polite pounding at the door.</p><p>“<em>See</em>?” He stressed, gesturing to the door with a pointed look to Ed. “They <em>knocked</em>. Like normal goddamn people.”</p><p>“How dare you imply any of you are normal.” He shot back. Roy would never tell Ed, but the banter was a welcome distraction. It lifted the dark air that had been flowering over his head in a sickly halo for the past few days.</p><p>He didn’t really need to say anything though because the younger had fine-tuned the art of flipping through people and scanning the table of contents for body language and hidden meaning. It had taken a while to learn how to read Roy, but the kid cracked it after a few years—split the tome wide open into a chart of ciphers right along with Alphonse, trailing behind Hawkeye’s precision. They would never be quite as good, but it saved Roy breath and pride by the fistful.</p><p>Speaking of his subordinates…</p><p>Four people stood in the frame when Roy opened his door and shamelessly bowled him over, making a B-line for Ed. “Wow. Thanks, guys.” Roy muttered under his breath, watching Fuery, Falman and Breda sling their arms across the boy’s shoulders with smiles tearing over their faces. Ed pushed them away halfheartedly but let Hawkeye place a kind hand on his shoulder.</p><p>They’d never erased the soft spot held for the Elric’s. Not that any of them had <em>tried</em> to.</p><p>Why would they?</p><p>Those were the annoying kids of the team and, military or not, they’d earned an honorary place in Roy’s squadron.</p><p>He cleared his throat loudly. A little obnoxiously too, but it did the trick. All the heads in the room turned to him, the amusement dulling considerably when his cold look reminded them why Ed was here in the first place.</p><p>“Updates?” He asked, looking to Hawkeye.</p><p>“We got a hit a few dozen miles away from Ruel. Some shopkeeper was bragging about how the <em>Fullmetal Alchemist</em> passed her store.”</p><p>Roy hummed thoughtfully. “Alright.”</p><p>He gestured to Havoc and together they splayed the map over a blank wall, tacking it in place while Breda went rampaging around for push pins. Ed drew out a wealth of papers from thin air and smiled wryly. Like a well oiled machine, they amassed a board. Ed stuck his transmutation circle up on the far corner and sat down cross-legged in the middle of the floor, scribbling furiously with a pen he’d pilfered from Roy’s desk.</p><p>“Can I get the string?” Havoc asked slyly.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You’re no fun.”</p><p>Their youngest was laying out a series of symbols, each with annotations by the dozen splattered along the edges. Roy’s eyes darted to the array already pinned to the wall and realized that these were the simplified versions of it. All the components broken down to their base for the sake of all the non-alchemists to understand and to know what to look for.</p><p>“Hey, Lieutenant?” Ed called, standing to add the new pages to their awkward mosaic. It didn’t look like the conspiratorial nonsense of a fanatic, but Roy woefully resigned to the fact that, soon enough, it would. His apartment was about to become headquarters for absurdity and he’d practically invited it inside. Should he set a seat at the table for surrealism?</p><p>“Hum?”</p><p>“In that report, you said this guy had scars right?” He spun lightly to face the blond woman. She nodded in turn. “Could you describe them?</p><p>Roy managed to herd the group over to the couches that sat parallel to their investigation wall, nearly having to shove Falman and Havoc as he went because they were staring at the map with an intensity that only surfaced in emergencies or on drinking nights.</p><p>Hawkeye took a moment to think, stealing the one and only armchair for herself. Ed seemed content enough on the floor, leaning against the coffee table, both hands fiddling with the loose strings of the carpet. Roy sighed and yanked a chair from the kitchen.</p><p>“They looked like burns. Not sure what from, exactly. But they weren’t more than a few months old.” Ed brightened a little. Maybe his theory could hold more water than Roy had given him credit for. She continued. “I wasn’t thinking about it at the time but I’m pretty sure that’s why he…”</p><p>“What?” Roy prompted.<br/>“When I talked to the double, he pulled his collar up.”</p><p>“Because… of the burns?” Breda asked from his spot squished between Fuery and Falman. Havoc had the gracelessness to sprawl out on one of the sofa’s, feet hanging off the edge and hands behind his head, leaving the others no choice but to pile together or join Ed on the floor.</p><p>Hawkeye frowned, expression diluting to something almost troubled, but stirred together with a meditative streak. A hint of discomfort was lining the edges of the normally unshakable woman and he almost started to dread her answer as she took a moment to pick out the right words.</p><p>“Slashes.” She settled on, “They looked more like slashes, I think. I didn’t really… I wasn’t all the focused on it but looking back, I’d guess they’d’ve came from a knife.” Hawkeye swallowed thickly, eyes narrowed. “They were on his neck.”</p><p>He crossed his arms, glancing to Ed. “Could that still be from a rebound?” The blond shook his head, hand rising to his chin in thought.</p><p>“It’s plausible, but I doubt it. If this person is an alchemy puppet, than any injuries post-transmutation <em>probably</em> wouldn’t heal. They could be repaired, sure, but I’m not sure they’d end up as scars.”</p><p>“And homunculi can heal themselves.” Roy finished quietly.</p><p>“What about Bradley?” Fuery piped up, leaning over Breda. He almost fell forward trying to catch the Colonel’s eye, with Falman grabbing him by the sleeve before his teeth got rearranged by the upholstery. The man didn’t even seem to notice, too concentrated on the discussion. “He bled. He had scars.”</p><p>“He was a human first. We’ve got the original right here.” Roy knocked twice on Ed’s head, much to his annoyance. He smacked the dark haired man’s hands away with a scowl.</p><p>“I forgot how annoying you are.” Roy smirked and watched more precious inches be cut from Ed’s already considerably short fuse. The younger composed himself a bit. “But still… Maybe with an imperfect stone, a homunculus could be more prone to injury.”</p><p>“And what about these puppets? If the bodies are organic and there’s enough energy, couldn’t they heal too?”</p><p>“Dunno. Maybe?” Ed paused, then stood up and strode towards the door quickly, snatching his jacket from where it was laying. “You know what, I’m gonna go to the library and steal some books.”</p><p>And there wasn’t a thing any of them could do to stop him. Hawkeye sighed, exasperation rolling off her shoulders and lapping at everyone’s ankles. Roy ran a a hand down his face. “Havoc. Falman.”</p><p>“On it.”</p><p>“You got it, Boss.”</p><p>They were skipping away to abuse military information before Roy removed his hand from the bridge of his nose. Breda was snorting into his hand, Fuery laughing into a throw pillow. “Less than an hour and he’s off causing problems.”</p><p>“On purpose.” Hawkeye added wistfully. She’d long since resigned to the manic whims of the Elric’s, having learned that going against the grain would earn a sliver the size of armageddon.</p><p>Literal, biblical armageddon.</p><p>Roy, too, had given up at this point. Actually, he’d been slinging his desire to keep those boys out of trouble into the abyss for years now. They simply <em>didn’t listen</em>. They never had and never would. Anyone who said Ed was the only troublemaker had never spent more than a few minutes with them because as Roy—and everyone at Eastern Command—could attest, Al was just as bad. Worse, maybe. Because his sweet smile and polite turn of phrase would let him <em>get away with it</em>.</p><p>Roy shivered inwardly. Those two could be fucking <em>scary</em>.</p><p>“On purpose.” He agreed, dropping his head into his hands. Fuery was choking on his snickers, Breda openly mocking him. To <em>think</em> that Roy is their commanding officer and they would be so bold as to bully him like this…</p><p>“Let’s get those reports written up, hum Fuery?” The man stifled his laugher and saluted.</p><p>“Sir!”</p><p>“Help him, Breda.”</p><p>It was quiet for a good while. His team had arrived in full at around five in the afternoon and by six they’d already worn a divot into his floor from pacing, trading ideas like volleys and shooting them down almost as fast.</p><p>Hawkeye spent the time writing out the details of her and Falman’s <em>routine maintenance calls</em>. She didn’t want to risk it at the office, after all. Roy looked over the smattering of notes Ed had left on the wall, copying them and making his own variations that could potentially accommodate one of their theories.</p><p>Problem was, it was all very intentional. It would’ve been impossible to create something like this on accident, and he couldn’t see a reason to want a damaged puppet like this. Especially if the alchemist powering it was, in fact, comatose as a result of the required energy. The word <em>why</em> was bouncing around in his head like a magpie shot full of caffeine.</p><p>A heavy boot kicked open his door and Roy sighed.</p><p>“<em>Knocking</em>.” He emphasized with as much malice as he could fit into the word.</p><p>“Oh quiet. You weren’t getting the security deposit back anyways.”</p><p>Ed padded through the frame, a small pile of books ready to avalanche onto the table. Havoc and Falman had anthologies and research essays up to their noses and it was easily comedic enough for Roy to chuckle.</p><p>They both glared at him from behind the paper towers and let Ed tow them to the living room and discard their cargo onto the table.</p><p>“My arms are gonna fall off.” Havoc declared, dropping onto the floor unceremoniously. The younger gave him an unimpressed look.</p><p>“Oh <em>wow</em>. Wouldn’t that be <em>awful</em> for you.” He folded his arms and watched Havoc wilt at the realization of his words.</p><p>“Sorry.” Ed cackled like a maniac and started pouring over the books.</p><p>It wasn’t long before Roy joined, carelessly laying upside down on his armchair with his nose in a thick book of research. It went on and on about theory in relation to practice but conveniently skimmed over the actual <em>how-to </em>portion. It became a theme as the sun sank, giving way to night and yawns started to grow more frequent. Roy turned through another page just as Ed slammed shut a hardcover blanketed in symbols from Xerxes.</p><p>The younger flopped backwards with a groan. “They’re all dancing around the question.” He huffed, frustrated.</p><p>“No kidding.” Roy tossed his own book down and shifted upright. “Apparently no one’s tried it or, if someone did, they didn’t want to write it down.”</p><p>“Doing some field work would make this go a lot faster.” The blond lamented. Then he stiffened.</p><p>Hawkeye glanced over curiously. “Edward?”</p><p>“Why don’t I go?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He sat up, looking energized. Almost excited. “I can go to the towns where this guy is popping up! You’re all trapped here by red tape but I’ve been travelling for a while. It would hardly be suspicious.”</p><p>Roy blanched. “No.”</p><p>He crossed him arms with a stubborn frown. “Why not? It wouldn’t be hard.” Ed asked. The miffed expression fit over his features so well it was startling, even though they’d all see that look a million times.</p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Chief’s got a point.” Havoc chirped. “None of us can get out there, but he’s free-range calamity.”</p><p>“<em>Thank you!</em> Also, fuck you. C’mon, Colonel. We’re going at a snails pace right now and this guy is already moving fast. Researching isn’t really a privilege we’ve got at the moment.”<br/>All the friendliness, all the teasing drained away from Roy.</p><p>He glared at Ed. “You’re not going.”</p><p>“You can’t stop me.” He shot back, faster than a semi-automatic and twice as accurate in it’s aim. He wasn’t entirely sure if the younger was fighting him for the sake of it, or if he really didn’t get why Roy simply couldn’t let him chase after this… this <em>thing</em> they know nothing about.</p><p>“<em>So help me</em>, I’ll issue a warrant for your arrest.”</p><p>“Wonder how fast I could get a train to Ruel…”</p><p>“I said <em>no!”</em> Roy barked. The room grew uncomfortable, soft chattering grinding to a halt in the wake of his venom (<em>terror</em>) soaked words. Ed sat back hissing out indecencies under his breath, finding some rather colourful ways to use his rolodex of curses.</p><p>Eyes darted from Roy to Ed.</p><p>It took a few minutes, but in the tense silence, the rest of his team slowly went back to work. Ed returned to annotating one of the books snagged from the library, wholly avoiding the dark haired alchemist with a stubborn set to his shoulders, coiled tensely.</p><p>They hardly said a word as evening turned into night and, one by one, his team stretched out the cramps from hunching over texts and clambered to the door, softly wishing them goodnight. Havoc left first, followed by Fuery and Falman.</p><p>Breda took a long pause at the threshold, his nails tapping at the lock while he looked between Ed—still shoving his nose into the creases of a book and wearing a mildly insulted turn to his brow—and the Colonel. He gave his superior a pointed look before letting the door click shut.</p><p>Hawkeye, of course, was the last to leave. At around eleven she silently started to collect her things. “Colonel.”</p><p>“Yes?” He tried not to let it come out as a sigh. He had caught the looks she’d been giving him and could almost hear the hammer of her gun being pulled back, a deadly charge resting in her throat ready to run him through.</p><p>“You’ll let us know what you two find?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Her eyes lingered on him, a sliver of urging splitting the steadfast anger that had been occupying her features. Then she was gone.</p><p>He and Ed sat in silence for a while long, the only noise coming from the turning of pages and scratching of pens over parchment. The occasional growl of a car would filter through the shutters and every time it was like match was being lit. And there Roy was, perched atop a powder keg like an idiot too stubborn to move.</p><p>He skimmed his options for restarting a conversation: Roy could just act like nothing was wrong and hope Ed would respond in kind. But that was wishful thinking at best. At worst he was signing a permission slip for a field trip to hell. One way, no refunds. An apology would feel hollow no matter how he phrased it.</p><p>Sincerity was hard with Ed—it was like trying to threading a needle with spider silk. Having been on the receiving end of empty-sounding attempts at reconciliation, Roy knew better than to try.</p><p>Ed apparently got tired of waiting for the older man to break the inch-thick silence and was wielding his words softly like a sledgehammer.</p><p>“I get that you’re on edge, but I’m not gonna die.” He said, shutting his book decisively and meeting Roy’s eyes in full.</p><p>First shot, and the brat had gotten a bullseye.</p><p>Because <em>yeah</em>, that’s what he was scared of. With his team there was already a built in fence keeping them close. They legally couldn’t leave unless he approved it and, though the thought was a little embarrassing, Roy was glad he could keep them all under watch. He was grateful to be able to quell his anxieties with a call and know that they were at least within the city limits and armed to the teeth. Ed, on the other hand, could be on his merry way that very night and dead by morning.</p><p>He could end up sprawled against an empty street with blood pooled beneath him.</p><p>“I know that.” Roy started stacking their material, piece by piece.</p><p>“Colonel. <em>I’m not gonna die</em>.” He said again, more forcefully this time</p><p>“I know that.” Roy repeated. A voice hissed in his ear that he didn’t know that; that he could’t see the future; that this <em>thing</em> could put a hole through Ed’s chest before any of them knew what town he was headed to.</p><p>“Then why’d you freak out? You know I’d’ve been careful and we kinda need some eyes on the field right now.”</p><p>Roy sunk down heavily into his plush chair, eyes downcast. “Hughes was careful too.”</p><p>The blond’s face grew solemn and weary. “I know he was.“</p><p>“More careful than you.”</p><p>Ed sighed. “Colonel—“</p><p>“I’m <em>not</em> risking it.” He said firmly. He didn’t dare look Ed in the eyes for fear that his voice might start to crumble away. Not that the younger would care much, but Roy’s pride<em>—</em>protectiveness? Eh, same difference<em>—</em>was a hell of a thing. It kept his line of sight trained on the ground. “Not with my team and <em>certainly</em> not with you or Al.”</p><p>He could feel himself being studied. Picked apart by prying golden eyes and having stitches torn up. It was like an old wound had started to ache.</p><p>Roy was scared. He really was and even if it wasn’t showing in his voice or words or face, he knew Ed could see it clear as day. He might as well have just written it out on his forehead.</p><p>Ed leaned back with a quiet nod. “Alright. I won’t go.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Roy couldn’t do much about the relief that spread through his chest, like the weight of the atmosphere had been lifted away.</p><p>“Not yet, anyways.” Ed added on. He didn’t even sound like himself. It wasn’t cheeky or full of spite. Roy wanted to put his head through the drywall and complain to the mice.<br/>“Fullme—“</p><p>“If things get bad I’m not just gonna sit here and do nothing. I know you’re nervous about all this but it’s not worth putting other innocents in harms way.”<br/>He stared for a long moment. “You’re impossible.”</p><p>“You’re greying.” Ed replied, spilling sarcasm all of this floor and throwing it carelessly into Roy’s face. The words were cold and weirdly comforting. Maybe that wasn’t the right word… familiar? Something about the tone made his shoulders unfurl and loosen.</p><p>“Just… call Al and get him over here before I throw you out the window.”</p><p>“Oh, you <em>know</em> a five story drop can’t kill a thing like me.”</p><p>“Don’t make me test that theory.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ed was exactly eight-two percent sure Al was visiting Winry. His train might’ve been stalled, but the chances of him being there were high. So he dialled the number and waited for a familiar voice to strike across, carrying nostalgia and warmth through the speaker.</p><p>“Hey Winry, is Al there?”</p><p>“<em>Ed? Hi, yeah. He’s out on a walk with Den</em>.”<br/>“Figures.” He grumbled. “Can I leave a message?”</p><p>“<em>Only if I can ask a question</em>.” Winry would use every bargaining chip she had even when she didn’t need to. He rolled his eyes to an audience of zero and glared at the phone like she could somehow see it.</p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p>“<em>Why’d you call so early? A few days ago, at like five in the morning. You called and then hung up. What was that about?</em>”</p><p>Oh. <em>There’s</em> the ice pouring down his back and the goosebumps over his arms.</p><p>His mind sang profanities.</p><p>Ed hadn’t been within reach of a phone for damn near a week. Mustang had been the only person he’d called and it was just a curtesy to let the team prepare for hell to break loose when he dropped by to visit.<br/>“You gotta be kidding.” Ed breathed, disbelief welling up in his throat and pushing at his heart.</p><p>“I<em>’m not…?</em>”</p><p>“Shit. Okay, tell Al to get onto the next train to East City.”</p><p>“<em>Wait,</em>”</p><p>“He knows the Colonel’s address. Tell him to come straight here.”</p><p>“<em>Ed!</em>” She shouted and he groaned, frustrated and running a hand through his hair.</p><p>“I don’t have time—“</p><p>“<em>Abridged version?</em>”</p><p>He blazed through an explanation at the speed of light and hung up before Winry could start asking questions. He’d fill her in later when his own head wasn’t starting to churn and tumble downhill into a pit of viperous new ideas. Looks like sleep would have to wait cause they’ve got a new scrap of info: The double knew people from his personal life, not just the military.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Edward almost fell over when he saw her.</p><p>It was unexpected. He’d been bouncing between towns for weeks now, darting from place to place and exchanging work or repairs for lodging. After the incident with his false cash in Ruel popped up in the papers, he decided it would be better to stick to camping alone. Edward did odd jobs so he wouldn’t have to steal food and grimaced every time he saw the pills in his little glass bottle as they grew closer to the bottom.</p><p>He was desperately trying to save them for the bad nights. The worst of the worst when he was dead on his feet but shutting his eyes sent him into a panic. Most nights he caved anyways.</p><p>The village he was it now was an inconspicuous place in the east. Edward didn’t bother to learn the name. He’d been casually rounding a corner when a long, dark head of hair accented with a light red barrelled across his vision. Her voice ran him through like a javelin and when she turned just enough for Edward to see her face, he listed against the wall. He’d grabbed hold of the mud-washed brinks at some point to steady himself, but couldn’t recall actually doing it.</p><p>
  <em>Rose.</em>
</p><p>A book bag slung over her shoulder, chatting happily with a woman seated at jewelry stand. He stumbled back, had moving to where his scar had started to twist viscerally. It felt like his flesh had started to tear itself away from bone and there might’ve been a small, hot rush of blood.</p><p>
  <em>She was right there.</em>
</p><p>Smiling and laughing as she touched forged gemstones and made smalltalk. The last time Edward had seen her…. The last time he saw <em>his</em> Rose, she had barely been able to whisper a few sentences at a time. She’d only just regained her words.</p><p>This Rose seemed happy.</p><p>Edward was tempted to go to her. Just because he needed to know it wasn’t fake. He’d seen illusions before and if this was a real, living and breathing version of Rose, maybe it could give him just a fraction of closure. It was incredibly selfish, but after all that’s happened he’s entitled to a little bit of selfishness, right?</p><p>Just for a moment.</p><p>“Hey, you alright?” Edward took an unconscious step back, almost flattening himself to the wall. There was someone beside him. He must’ve been getting lost again. It’d been happening every so often where Edward would just drift. The world became a blur and his feet ceased to touch the ground. There was nothing to anchor him here, not like the other world where there was his housemates. Co-workers. <em>Friends</em>. He was lost here.</p><p>Edward jerked to look at the man beside him. “You look awfully pale, there.” He eyed the younger warily.</p><p>“I’m… I’m fine.”</p><p>“You’re shaking like a leaf.”</p><p>“No, really. It’s alright. This happens sometimes.” Technically not a lie. Edward held up his hands placatingly. He forced himself to stay in the present because this <em>wasn’t</em> a confrontation. He <em>wasn’t</em> in danger. Edward tried for a reassuring nod. The man didn’t seem convinced, but he backed away, the crows feet creasing around his weathered eyes.</p><p>“Take care, kid. If you’re sick, there’s a pharmacy just off the main road.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>The man padded onward, leaving Edward feeling inexpressibly and unexplainably angry. He wanted to hit something.</p><p>Rose had wandered off to what looked like a bakery and Edward made the only rational decision of his life,</p><p>He left.</p><p>It would be so unfair to do that to anyone.</p><p>At least Hawkeye had found him by accident, he couldn’t pilfer the blame for any trouble he might’ve stirred up in East City. Sure, he wanted to be selfish. Desperately, he wanted to because he’d been offering his life on a goddamn pyre for every person that stumbled through his line of sight for a decade now. A sacrificial lamb, through and through. But there’s no real romance to martyrdom. It was nasty and cruel. Edward, for better or worse, wanted to let that slip away for long enough to seal shut a wound that had been festering within him for three years. He just wanted some damn closure with Rose. But he wouldn’t. He <em>couldn’t</em>.</p><p>It wasn’t right and he couldn’t force himself to take another step forward.</p><p>So, he turned on his heel and ran right out of the village, not even slowing when his side cramped and begged him to rest. Edward didn’t stop until he was a mile and a half away, trees stretching up on both sides of him, threatening to swallow the gravel road laid out, spotted with tire tracks and the impressions of hooves.</p><p>Edward pranced his way down the walkway, through the woods and into a bottle of moonshine, resigned to feeling battered and sick the next morning. He didn’t bother with finding a room, instead slamming his hands into the ground and burrowing a hole into a shallow hilltop. He’d spent nights in worse places.</p><p>At least here Edward wouldn’t be forced to listen to the choked sobbing of children or hold his hands over his ears when thunderous tremors shook the room. At least it wouldn’t collapse on top of him.</p><p>He lit a small fire and let the flames lick at his chilled hands, damn near burning his fingertips off with how close he inched to the kindling.</p><p>“Not a home without a hearth.” He spat bitterly, back pressed against the dirt walls with roots grasping and clawing at his hair and clothes.</p><p>The fire pulsed cheerfully and Edward inhaled the warmth along with the silent stench of smoke being sucked out through the entrance. Sparks touched the low ceiling and, to Edward’s horror, Mustang came to mind.</p><p>There was the brief consideration of how Edward might have smugly bullied the man into making a more functional heat source appeared and was purged a moment later.</p><p>Edward didn’t want to think about that. He’d danced around the names and faces from Amestris for so long, fearing they’d pull him into a dreamland or hellscape should the memories brush too close. He missed them all the same. His teammates and friends. Al and Winry. He gulped down a mouthful of liquor and passed out before his mind hand the chance to drag him down any farther.</p><p>Of course, he dreamt of Rostock. Of the theatre and the rickety attic he’s pilfered and tinkered at until it was crisp, livable and full of light. On occasion, there was laughter.</p><p>A series of memories flittered about, dipping between the hazy nothings of his subconscious mind, desperate to wrench at his heart whenever it could. He saw scenes of watching plays from the catwalk and changing the lighting rigs with a few friends at his side.</p><p>It was so silly but he missed those moments of calm. They’d grown so sparse and delicate, hardly every rearing up to grace him with peace, but they were beautiful regardless. Edward would crack a smile like an egg into a pan, over-easy and served with a heaping of salt and pettiness whenever an actor butchered a line.</p><p>He exclusively earned sweets and new pens from the bets placed on each show. His hobby of people watching would have each gamble cracking down on his competitors and robbing them of fresh pastries. A headache split his skull down the middle when his eyes twitched open.</p><p>Memories, he decided, were dangerous.</p><p>Edward clung to the back of a truck filled with lumber for the morning and rolled off when it took a sharp turn into west bumble-fuck and Edward hadn’t a clue where they were headed.</p><p>He wasn’t entirely lost, there was a vague idea of where he was, but he didn’t know what town he’d whirl through next. It was like he was was rolling a set of dice and betting on snake eyes because that’s what he <em>always</em> did. Hopefully it wouldn’t cause a repeat of when someone recognized him <em>again</em> and whipped out a camera. He’d ducked into a seedy alleyway as the flash went off, but it might prove problematic later on.</p><p>A set of steel stacks and wooden buildings sprouted at the horizon and a grim smile came across his lips. It grew a touch more bitter when the damn thing pulled slowly into focus like a spotlight on a stage. This was a place he <em>knew</em> and, of course, pain threaded across his skin, turning in raw loops over the bullet wound and teasing his mind with pangs. He kept his head low and let his reading glasses shielded his eyes.</p><p>Maybe his counterpart hadn’t flipped Youswell on its head with a grin and birds flipping from his fingertips like Edward had, but he wasn’t going to risk being recognized when all he wanted was a meal.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He grabbed her by the collar without even thinking about it.</p><p>Lyra. <em>Dante</em>. She looked dazed and a violent instinct spurred him to shove her back against a wall. Her hair was mussed and curtaining down to her eyelashes. The creepy had the nerve to look frightened and all Edward could see through the haze of red was a child.</p><p>An infant. Mutilated and tattooed in gashes by <em>her hands</em>. His mind scrambled for something to latch onto, screaming at him to let go while another side projected Sloth wearing his mothers face and Al sprawled in the middle of a circle, unmoving and terrified.</p><p>He could almost taste the rotting smell of decay from the corpse she wore like an accessory as the past blasted presence into the backseat and steered towards calamity.</p><p>“W-what are you doing?” She was wide-eyed and gripping his wrist. It took all Edward’s self control to not punch her across the face. He could see her dark smile, the oil-slicked words that would pour from her lips and light him on fire. Her eyes were fearful but there were the familiar flashes of anger tearing his sense of logic in two.</p><p>“Stop it!” She cried. Edward glowered, face twisting into a visage of cold hate that could only have be learned through being pounded into his skull. Like molten metal, his eyes blazed, hands curling and grasping, most definitely totalling her blouse. Edward’s face felt hot and the world was tinged with the sickly scarlet glow of her stupid, precious fucking philosophers stone.</p><p>It’s not Dante. <em>It’s not Dante.</em></p><p>It looked just like her. The eyes especially, tearing through him with sharp clarity and easing rage into his beating heart with needlepoint precision. Her voice… the smell. The <em>smell</em>. He stiffened and for the first time noticed the absence of flowery chemicals. The perfume Dante would practically bathe in wasn’t rolling off in clouds as he remembered it. The smell of rot wasn’t coming from the young woman shaking against his hold. It was from the garbage strew about the dilapidated walkway.</p><p>
  <em>Let go, idiot!</em>
</p><p>Like he’d been slapped, Edward’s face fell. He stumbled back. “I’m sorry.” He choked, the words slippery and unsure. “I didn’t—I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Lyra just stared at him, scared and confused. He almost tripped as he reeled back, still breathing out apologies as though that would make it okay.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>It seemed that was all he could do nowadays. Hah. A one-legged kid whose talent was running. God must be waiting for their standing ovation right about now. Edward would give the smug prick a polite bullet to the head instead. Not that that could kill the damn thing. But it would certainly make him feel better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The wait between posting is agonizing. Like it's 6am and I simply couldn't make myself wait any more lmao. </p><p>Anyways, here's our rising tension portion of the story! Act II is underway and Edward is having Issues. Hope y'all enjoyed this one! Toss me a kudos, if you please. Comments are wonderful as well.<br/>See ya next week loves!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bokspringen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Disassociation and brief mention of injuries and gun violence.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been around one in the morning—Roy was having an intense staring contest with a pitch black cup of narcotic-doused tea—when a foot kicked the lock off his living room window, adjoined to the kitchen where he was half-dead and cussing out insomnia something fierce.</p><p>“Youswell.” Ed declared, clambering through the window and right into his apartment. He didn’t even have the grace to look smug or teasing. Just deadpan; casual like this was a normal way to enter someones house.</p><p>“What the fuck, Fullmetal.” He couldn’t even muster up the exasperation he desperately wished to spit in droves.</p><p>“The door was locked.” Came another voice and Roy fell out of his chair, defeated and showered with disbelief.</p><p>“Hawkeye.” He said dumbly and dryer than a conservative wedding.</p><p>“We knocked first.” Ed’s half-assed defenced was enough for Roy to glare at him from the floor. His dignity was a pile of ashes and sleep deprivation made him stir-crazy.</p><p>He huffed and dragged himself over to the map that had become sufficiently manic over the past few weeks. Covered in dots and tears of paper. Havoc had gone behind his back one night and adding string. Bright red and obnoxious against the dull earth tones that made up his home. Roy was still unsure if Havoc broke in to do it, or if he simply didn’t pay enough attention during one of their meetings.</p><p>The lock on his front door was suspiciously pliable, come to think of it… Roy made a mental note to put a padlock on his bedroom and maybe tie a bell around Havoc’s neck.</p><p>Hawkeye snagged a push pin and set to tacking up a transcript of a call.</p><p>He squinted, reading it three times over before his mind shifted gears and actually started to process what it said. His eyes blew wide and startled.</p><p>“<em>Attacked?!</em>”</p><p>“Yeah.” Ed stood next to him, arms folded an eyebrows turned down in determination. “Some girl called it in this morning.”</p><p>“Al only managed to transcribe the last half of the call, but we heard the description. It matches where he was last seen too.” Hawkeye cut in, gesturing to the sheet Roy’s eyes were still stubbornly glued to.</p><p>“You could’ve called,”</p><p>Ed shook his head. “Fuery was off duty for monitoring. We didn’t want to risk getting tapped.”</p><p>“It’s not a military line.”</p><p>The younger waved him off. “Semantics.”</p><p>It was very plausible Ed had just wanted to break into Roy’s apartment for the hell of it. Bragging rights would follow accomplishment, without a doubt, and Hawkeye might’ve been too listless to put up a fight.</p><p>Roy wondered if they’d somehow gotten ahold of the rust-sealed fire escape or if the duo had simply scaled the side of his apartment building by stamp sized divots and flower boxes.</p><p>Whatever.</p><p>Roy probably wasn’t going to sleep anyways, so he might as well be a bit productive.</p><p>They compiled a fresh list of incidents. Ed managed to wrangle a train schedule for, like, six different towns at some point and was circling the most plausible options for their double to have taken. If he was even travelling by <em>train</em>.</p><p>Together they plotted out the most likely spots that he would pop up next, ready to falsify more routine checkups that no one ever seemed to question, only to be devastated two days later when there was another rumour springing up at the southern side of the east.</p><p>That night both Ed and Al had crashed in his living room and Roy listlessly threw blankets over the boys before belly flopping into his own bed until noon.</p><p>“Guess what I got my hands on!” Havoc called cheerily the next time Roy’s team came barreling through his door. He was getting rather tired of his home being their base of operations, but he dug his own grave, really. Roy had volunteered the space and now it was a hotspot for friendly break-ins. Waking up to discover a note on the table and an empty coffee pot was routine.</p><p>“The Fürhers sext tape?” Ed guessed.</p><p>“Close.”</p><p>“A new lock for the door you keep breaking?” Roy asked with an unimpressed frown.</p><p>“Nope!” Havoc grinned at him, pulling something small and black from his pocket. “A film reel.”</p><p>“What for?” Al peered at the canister held between the older man’s fingers. He reached forward and plucked it from Havoc’s grasp, who stood there looking proud like a kid showing off his sand castle.</p><p>“It’s got a photo of our double.”</p><p>The room exploded. Eight voices layered atop one another, sputtering and shouting, all asking a variation on the same question: <em>“What?!”</em></p><p>Havoc held a finger to his lips and snatched the canister back from Al, rolling his words like the true self-impressed jerk that he was. “I don’t kiss and tell. No one come into the washroom until I get this developed!”</p><p>“My fucking… security deposit…” Roy moaned into his hands miserably. Breda placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder while Ed cackled shamelessly in the background, having the time of his goddamn life. Al tried to shush his brother, but was smiling all the while.</p><p>“Your door was already broken, Boss.”</p><p>The reconvened around the conspiracy wall and studied it again, searching for a pattern.</p><p>“You think this is some kind of tactic?” Ed asked aloud, glancing to the dark haired alchemist.</p><p>Roy sighed. “I think he might be messing with us.”</p><p>“Or he’s lost.” Hawkeye rested her chin in her hand, gazing at their sporadic spreadsheet, dissecting it for the hundredth time in the small hopes that something would appear to them.</p><p>“Or all of the above.” Al suggested wearily. A collective huff drew from the group, harmonized as though they’d practiced before. Any orchestra would’ve been jealous.</p><p>Havoc strode back into the main room after vanishing into Roy’s office-space. It had been filled with red light and developers for the film reel he’d pilfered from… <em>somewhere</em>. Al theorized he’d bought it off a newspaper while Ed suggested the man had found it in a dumpster. Havoc smugly refused to say when he emerged from the room bathed in ruby reds the the stench of chemicals chasing close behind. He stuck the photo dead-centre of the map.</p><p>It was grainy, clearly having been blown from a smaller version but looking at it left no question. Even with the blurriness and smaller set to the persons frame, it was Ed.</p><p>A jacket huge closely around him and the look of an amateur smeared over the image. The profile was blurred to the skies and smudged with motion lines. It wasn’t clear in the slightest, but it was better than nothing and at least the rest of them now had a vague idea if what to look for.</p><p>Al leaned forward, wide-eyed and curious. “Huh.” He turned to Hawkeye. “His hair really <em>is</em> shorter.”</p><p>“Yeah. I wonder why…”</p><p>“Maybe so people didn’t recognize him?” Came Falman’s voice from behind. “If the double is trying to stay under the radar, it would make sense to change his appearance.”</p><p>“Sure, but he didn’t change it <em>enough</em>.” Ed emphasized. He reached out, fingers lightly meeting with the static-infused slip. “It’s only the hair. Wouldn’t you want something more drastic to keep from being noticed? And besides, the fact that it looks like…” He floundered for a moment. “Like <em>that</em> is going to draw more attention anyways.”</p><p>He was right of course. From the picture and what Hawkeye had said, the kids hair had been choppy and misaligned. Like someone had taken a hacksaw to the strands and slashed away with casual abandon.</p><p>“This is ridiculous.” Roy backed up to one of the sofas and dropped down carelessly. “At least last time there was some logic to it all. But theres no pattern here. What the hell are we missing?”</p><p>“A lot of sleep, for starters.” Al began, an unbalanced skew of chastising filling his words. It shouldn’t be possible coming from such a young face. “The world won’t end if we rest and we can’t just keep breaking in here.”</p><p>“Appreciate the concern.”</p><p>“I’m more worried about someone call the police on us, to be honest.” He admitted with a shrug. It was a little insulting, but Roy brushed it off.</p><p>“Fair enough. How about a week off and then we get back on it?”</p><p>“That’s too long!” Ed cried, a flare from his hands and a gesture to the wall. Of course the workaholic would be opposed. He would drive himself into the ground before he took a break.</p><p>Roy could only hope that Al would be able to wrestle his brother's pride into a waste bin long enough for him to unwind. Or maybe just hit him over the head really hard. Roy knew which one would be more entertaining.</p><p>“Six days.”</p><p>“Four.”</p><p>“Five.”</p><p>The blond crossed his arms and glared. “Fine, but I’m holing up in the library for a day first.” It earned him a light slap on the arm from Al. The older boy stuck out his tongue and turned on his heel, making a B-line for the front door. Al gave them a weary, somewhat apologetic look and scrambled after him, his face morphing into a very distinct <em>I’m going to kick Ed’s ass</em> frown.</p><p>“Don’t burn the place down.” Breda hollered over his shoulder.</p><p>“I’ll slash your tires!” Ed shouted back as the door fell shut. The room fell quiet the second the brothers left. Like the silence that alway rang after storms or the hesitant peace after apocalyptic sky fall.</p><p>Fuery glanced to Breda. “You gonna stop him?”</p><p>He scoffed in response. “As if I could. Anyways, have we done any research into the soldiers stationed at each of these towns? Could be something there.”</p><p>Falman raised a hand. “I’ll go to archives after the break.”</p><p>“I can keep monitoring communications. I’ve got a bunch of blank tapes I can use so we don’t have to be on shifts. We can scan them for info later.”</p><p>“Great.” Roy turned to them sharply, drawing in a deep breath. “Now<em> get out of my house</em>!”</p><p>They scattered like mice. Hawkeye gave him a disapproving look. He simply gestured to his busted locks and she relented with slumped shoulders.</p><p>He crashed an hour later and slept through his alarm. It was glorious and earned him a hearty glare from everyone who showed up on time to work.</p><p>The first few days were oddly peaceful. He’d expected it to be ruined by the piles of paperwork he’d been shirking off, but the monotony was rather comforting.</p><p>For the first time in a good while he could work on something that made sense. No meaningless excursions or despondent scraps of information. Just plain old paperwork, straightforward and mind-numbingly dull. Feury dropped by with a tape on the second day, but no one came ambling through his window in the dead of night.</p><p>The bar was on the ground, but at least they’d managed to clear it.</p><p>He got a call from Al assuring him that no, Ed hadn’t been sleeping at the library like the whole office had feared. They had little to offer for the extra efforts and the whole thing was driving Roy up the wall. There had been a trail to follow last time, buried and insidious though it was, they’d been able to dig their way past coffins and old bones to find the truth. This was just <em>bizarre</em>.</p><p>The resting period almost passed without incident. If not for the tornado that came to blow all of their lives apart in the span of an afternoon. It was the last day of their break when Al came sprinting into the office with a young soldier chasing after him.</p><p>“Sir, you can’t be here.“ He pleaded, but Al didn’t even glance his way. “<em>Please</em>—“</p><p>“It’s alright,” Roy interjected and politely singled for Hawkeye to push the private out of the room. His face hardened the second the knob clicked shut and Al was already herding them towards the lockable doors to Roy’s private workspace.</p><p>He dragged them in by the elbows, looking frantic and antsy.</p><p>“You’ve checked for bugs?” He demanded.</p><p>“This morning, yeah. Why?”</p><p>“He—the double—he’s in Resembool.” He explained, hand running through his hair and leaving flyaways in its wake. They all paled considerably. Hawkeye recovered the quickest and stepped forward.</p><p>“How do you know?”</p><p>“Because Winry just called!” Al yelped. “Apparently she—she <em>talked</em> to him and, and I think he’s at her house…?” He finished sounding confused and frustrated. It was reflected back in the faces of everyone else.</p><p>A flurry of curses and confusion befell the room until Roy’s voice cracked over them loudly. “Where’s your brother?”</p><p>“Getting train tickets.” He heard Havoc swear under his breath. The younger carried on through the anxious mutterings. “I know you all can’t just up and leave, I <em>know</em> that but—“</p><p>“Fuery, Falman.” Roy cut the blond boy off, sternly looking to his subordinates. They saluted with stiff determination.</p><p>“Can you two doctor a report that would give us reason to go to Resembool.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“And will you be able to keep the brass off our backs until we return?”<br/>They smiled resolutely. “Not a problem, sir.”</p><p>With Breda, Havoc, and Hawkeye on tow, they met with a pacing, anxious looking Ed half an hour later on a nearly barren train platform, the sun having vanished and given way to a low spray of stars. He was tapping his feet rapidly against the ground and murmuring to himself, so lost in though that he didn’t even notice them until Al pulled ahead of the group and placed a hand on the older boy’s shoulder. Ed jumped at the contact, vaguely startled, but it dissolved into an enervated brand of relief.</p><p>The yellowish lights from scattered lamps made the image feel eerie. Dark wooden benches curled with stray dandelions breathed wonder into the fervent gloom, but Roy couldn’t help but tense up regardless; Ed’s hands were fidgeting, face pinched in a rarely-seen display of worry.</p><p>Al watch his brother hesitantly as the rest caught up, a pitched squealing of metal on metal cleaving through the hollowed station while they regrouped. “Is he…?” The younger started.</p><p>“Still at Winry’s house? <em>Yep</em>. She’s crazy.”</p><p>“She’s got a wrench.” Al offered weakly. Roy almost winced at the attempt at comfort. In truth, Ed had every right to be nervous.</p><p>But psyching themselves out for the next five hours of landscapes and train whistles wouldn’t help anyone.</p><p>“Yeah, and worms for brains.” Ed huffed, the discomfort in his voice openly bleeding any bite the words might’ve had into a pale gasp. Roy decided to try his hand at Al’s sport and serve up some half-baked consolation. Which, even in concept, was strange. The kid with a mind of sharp edges and a heart tougher than nails getting gestures of comfort…</p><p>Obviously, it <em>had</em> happened before. But it never stopped feeling incorrect on some level. Intrusiveness would nag at him and Roy would end up feeling out of place. Like a stranger walking in on something small and private. No matter, he tossed the words out before he could over-analyze the situation further. “I’m sure she’ll be okay, Fullmetal. Isn’t there a shotgun on the wall?”</p><p>“Don’t like what you’re implying but yes.”</p><p>Hawkeye tried to assure him with a smile, but the kid just sighed, heavy and tired. Al exchanged a look with his brother. They spoke in micro-movements at the speed of light, having what had to be an hour long conversation in a matter of seconds. The train cars had slowed beside them, dragging onward in inches while a high scream of the whistle rang through the air, a percussion of echoes bouncing around them.</p><p>The brothers glanced back to the officers, wearing expressions tailor made by worry and years of knocking on deaths door.</p><p>The doors peeled open on the passenger cars.</p><p>The air felt chilled and grim. “Let’s go.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>This was a mistake.</p><p>A massive, incredibly consequential and idiotic mistake. He’d invented a whole new genre of mistakes. A new flavour of screw-up he could package and sell to other morons without a single ounce of critical thinking.</p><p>Here he was, somehow. Standing on a dirt road that he could map out down to the last blade of grass. He looked out at the pastels of green acres and chamomile fields, speckled with wild lilacs. Here Edward was in Resembool.</p><p>Against every logical notion, pulling away from every instinct that screamed he couldn’t be here, its where he’d drifted anyways. Without even noticing it, he’d wandered home.</p><p>He felt sick at the thought.</p><p>
  <em>Home.</em>
</p><p>How awful was that? This is all… incorrect. Tilted on the wrong axis and spinning a touch too fast. It made Edward dizzy, like he was sauntering across a dream instead the reality—that he was stumbling half-dead through the fiery light of dusk as it settled against the earth. His old wounds ached and begged him to sleep. But he’d run out of aids to do so.</p><p>Nights had been spent with Edward’s eyes fluttering shut, only to jerk back open because <em>fucking hell</em> did falling asleep feel exactly like dying.</p><p>It was a memory he couldn’t scrub from his mind no matter how many other horrors danced along to overshadow it. The showstopper remained a sensation—<em>fan favourite</em>, the playwright would say—while awareness seeped out of his fingertips. It left him in the cold.</p><p>The memory was narcissistic and selfish, it found it’s name stamped onto the playbill every time the curtains opened for his next nightmare.</p><p>
  <em>Death.</em>
</p><p>Co-stars named <em>planes, fire</em> and <em>sirens</em> made frequent appearances as well. The metal shell of a bomb would guest star on the worst nights.</p><p>Edward drifted, eyes glassy and steps only barely skimming the ground.</p><p>He found himself looking up at a hill. The nausea hit him again full force when he caught sight of a tree, a swing swaying from one of its outstretched branches. It was the one he’d used as a child. Along with Al and Winry. They would take turns pushing each other and scrambling up the trunk to hang off the limbs by the backs of their knees.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>Edward was stuck in place, unable to step forward or back. Story of his goddamn life, right? Like a rowboat on the high seas, caught in a vortex and turning in place ad infinitum. His arms felt heavy, eyes half shut and drinking in the sounds and smells and <em>everything</em> like his life depended on it. Edward clung to the taste of half-dead harvest leftovers that wafted through the air and flexed his fingers to keep them from locking into place.</p><p>As if pulled by strings, he stepped forward. One foot in front of the other, slowly walking towards the Rockbell house standing proudly atop the miniature crest, blanketed in a bright orange halo. It was etherial and a jarring contrast to the blazing reds of flame he’d grown disturbingly accustomed to. Suddenly he was only a few paces away, staring up in awe, wonder and absolute horror.</p><p>It was the exact same. Why wouldn’t it be? Edward’s head was pounding and he wasn’t sure if there were mirages dancing through the air or is his vision had started to ripple all on its own.</p><p>The soft creaking of oil-ridden hinges broke through the daze so violently he stumbled back, briefcase clutched tightly beside him.<br/>“Ed?”</p><p>She looked at him. <em>Winry</em> looked at him. Edward looked right back, words sticking to his throat and the ground swaying drunkenly beneath him. Something flickered over her. Worry? Apprehension, maybe? It was coloured at the edges by the look she always got when she was working: calling audibles on a new mechanical limb, coming up with solutions and improvements on the fly.</p><p>It was gone before he fully registered what it might mean. Winry gave her signature, chastising frown, arms folding. “I thought I told you to call before you visit!” She said with a huff.</p><p>Her hair was tied back in a bandana, coveralls hitched up to her shoulders and grease staining the gloves she was dusting off.</p><p>Edward nearly fell apart when it hit him. All at once like a bullet through the chest, the sheer force of the realization—<em>she’s right there</em>—made him feel shaky. He knew the feeling well enough by now. It rocked and flared at the sight of his friend.</p><p>“R-right.” He managed to stammer after a long moment. She eyed him for a second longer, considering something before bouncing down the front steps and marching right up to the other confidently.</p><p>“Well?” Winry asked. “Aren’t you coming in?”</p><p>He felt pathetically useless. She would’ve been able to braid ribbons into his hair and he couldn’t do so much as twitch or protest. His breath stuck to his lungs, snagged on the shards of his ribs that screamed at him to turn around and <em>bolt</em>.</p><p>But Winry had already grabbed his arm—the right one, he realized with a start—and was pulling him towards the door. It was uncharacteristically gentle of her. Those same puppet strings from before had looped around his throat and were suffocating him, letting Winry lead him up the steps, lecturing him all the way.</p><p>“You need to wash up more. I swear, you just don’t take care of yourself.” She glared at him with lovingly sharpened shivs flying from her bright eyes. It didn’t match the careful hold she had over his arm, but Edward thought better than to dwell on any of this. He didn’t want old memories to take over. Surely he’d be shot into the past by half a decade and not resurface until he was behind bars. It would get him caught for being in the wrong world once more and maybe shot for existing.</p><p><em>Again</em>.</p><p>He sincerely hopes if <em>that</em>, the worse case scenario, came to pass, that they won’t beat around the bush and just stick some lead in his skull. It would be merciful, honestly. He doesn’t want to die any more times than he has, but… one firing squad was enough for ten lifetimes and if Edward had to go through a second round, he would unravel.</p><p>Winry let the door swing shut behind him and the smell alone was overwhelming. The hints of grease and solder splash stirred together with sweetness in the air. A pie or something similar.</p><p>Edward hated the feeling. Loathed it. Every sight was debilitatingly painful and welcoming all the same. He wasn’t used to feeling this weak.</p><p>Helpless? Sure. The sensation practically clung to his back for years on end, yet vulnerability was torture all on its own.</p><p>Vibrancy and stubborn optimism had been tucked close to his chest and he guarded those traits fiercely. Maybe he was just myopic for doing so, maybe he was smarter than most.</p><p>Maybe it was the only thing keeping him sane. But this had robbed him of sense entirely.</p><p>Edward felt like a shell as Winry brought him to a spare room, handing him a washcloth and saying to clean up.</p><p>“You look like you haven’t slept in a week.” She told him sternly before spinning on her heel and disappearing through the doorframe.</p><p>Hah. If only she knew.</p><p>His soul withered and his hands shook. He sat down on the bed pressed against the far wall, sinking into the mattress and burying his face in his hands.</p><p>Edward didn’t cry. He’d lost that privilege somewhere along the way, but his shoulders slumped while his breaths came in choked gasps. He clamped a hand over his mouth when his side lurched and his stomach began to threaten him with sickness. Edward kept telling himself that he needed to get the hell out of there. He pleaded with his arms and legs to move. Whether is be out the front door or through a window, he would die if he stayed.</p><p>But he’s so fucking <em>tired</em>.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>If the authorities didn’t kill him, then the pounding ache from his scars would. Edward‘s hand spasmed against his side and it felt like he was breathing sulfur instead of oxygen.</p><p>It was alarmingly similar to the toxic searing of firebombs. The blond was sure he was going to start bleeding before he could force his feet to hold his own weight.</p><p>Edward couldn’t tell how long he sat there for, suffocating on grief and smoke that wasn’t even there. But eventually, there was a hand on his shoulder, drawing him out of the hellish reverie. Winry’s calloused, machine-worn hands wrapped around him from the side.</p><p>She didn’t say anything to him.</p><p>It was obvious she knew something was wrong. He was shuttering and his jaw was wired shut, but she didn’t call attention to it. Winry simply sat beside him for a short while, forehead pressed into his shoulder lightly.</p><p>He thought he might collapse. Winry pulled away without meeting his eyes and left the room. Edward watched her leave and slowly fell apart.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Winry flattened her back against the door and tried to settle the chaotic whirling of thoughts that spiralled through her mind.</p><p>This was clearly the double Ed had told her about. There wasn’t any other explanation. She was well aware that bringing him inside had been reckless. Dangerous, if the theories Colonel Mustang’s team had cooked up were to be believed. Everyone from East City was warning her that this was bad news, no matter what the outcome was it couldn’t be good. Al had insisted upon that fact almost as aggressively as Ed did.</p><p>But he just seemed so… exhausted. And hollow and painfully sad.</p><p>Winry was empathetic right down to her core and looking at the doppelgänger made something spark deep in her chest. Thought it took a moment to identify, it had been benevolence. Perhaps it was misplaced, but it didn’t die down with time. Every line on his face (the scars that peered from behind his tattered clothes) cried out <em>lonely.</em></p><p>Call her naive, but Winry couldn’t stop the urge to provide some feeble solace.</p><p>It was <em>Ed</em>.</p><p>Not exactly but it looked so much like him and seeing that expression snapped her apprehension in half.</p><p>It was used like fertilizer for her resolve.</p><p>Now she stood hunched over a phone in her workshop, listening to the shrill ringing. A hotel receptionist picked up and redirected her to the Elric’s room.</p><p>“<em>Hello</em>?” Ed sounded a little drowsy, like he’d spent a day surrounded by books up to his neck. He probably had. Winry didn’t even bother with an introduction.</p><p>Preamble was for idiots. This was important “He’s here.”</p><p>“<em>Winry?” </em>He grew more alert, a soft tug sounding from the cord on his end. <em>“What do you—whose there?!</em>”<br/>She grasped the phone tightly, leaning onto the table with her other hand. “The double. I saw him. He’s here.”</p><p>“<em>Wh—are you okay?</em>”</p><p>“I’m fine. I don’t know what to do.”</p><p>“<em>Wait, Winry. He’s not… in your house, is he?</em>” Ed asked slowly. There was worry leaking into his voice. She stared down at some discarded blueprints and bit her lip. “<em>Winry!</em>” He cried when she didn’t answer. The silence spoke volumes to him, she knew it as fact.</p><p>“I know! I know, really.” Winry haphazardly tried to placate, but it was useless. She could already hear him calling to Al in the background and the shuffling of what must’ve been a towering mass of research materials. She pressed on, cutting off his rambling to his brother with as sharp a tone she could muster. “But you need to get here as soon as you can, okay? I really don’t know what I should do.”</p><p>“<em>Get out of there!</em>” Ed yelped. Al’s voice was buzzing alongside the older’s in a harsh whisper. She didn’t catch everything, just a vague mention of <em>the Colonel</em> and <em>Hawkeye</em>. He was probably running off to contact them.</p><p>“You’ve been tracking him for almost two months. Don’t you want answers?” Winry asked. Appealing to his curiosity usually helped. Maybe she could trick him into calming down a little and not accidentally blowing the roof off his hotel room through sheer force of will. Because she wasn’t going to leave and also sincerely didn’t want to have to lie to him.</p><p>She wasn’t above doing so, not by a long shot. But it still stung to let the falsities slip in comforting tones and create flimsy security.</p><p>“<em>Well yeah</em>,” He started, almost defensively. Winry interrupted before his words started to tumble into each other like they alway did when he got antsy like this.</p><p>“I don’t think he’s going to do anything. He just… froze up and I-I’m pretty sure he’s in some kind of shut down? How soon can you be here? I can stall for you.”</p><p>“<em>I dunno… five or six hours? I have to check the train schedule. But you can’t be there alone with that…thing!</em>”</p><p>Winry happily ignored the second half of what he said. Six hours? She could handle that. It would be evening soon enough and if she could weave together sweet enough words, it might keep the other Ed in place. Morality took it’s leave as she considered digging out some narcotics or a really big hammer. “Okay.” She muttered into the speaker. “Okay. I’ll be fine.”</p><p>“<em>Wait, Winry what happened—</em>“</p><p>She hung up before he finished speaking. Winry drew in a deep breath to steele herself, collecting all the pieces that had fallen off in the little frenzy and drilling them back into place.</p><p>Patience and caution would be held in her back pocket like a loaded gun.</p><p>The front door was swinging shut as she stepped out of her workshop, mismatched steps lightly sprinting down the beaten path.</p><p>“Crap.” She didn’t bother to grab shoes or a torch, instead she pitched towards the door. Winry flew down the steps and locked onto the rapidly fading shock of golden moving down the hillside.</p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>He took a hard turn, sprinting across an open field to where an expanse of autumn-coloured forest lined the farmland.</p><p>“Hold on!” She tried again but he didn’t even glance back. Not a stagger or falter in his stride. The other Edward continued to pull farther ahead of her and Winry regretted the neglect to her feet because the ground was dotted with sharp stones and crabgrass left pinstripes of blood on her ankles. It would be healed by morning, but stung nonetheless. She couldn’t let him slip away.</p><p>Winry convinced herself it was for Ed and Al. For Colonel Mustang and his team who’d been overworking themselves and nervous beyond belief.</p><p>But really, it wasn’t.</p><p>Part of it, perhaps, but mostly Winry followed him as the sun set and rocks bit into her skin because the distant look of fear and despondence in his eyes was unmistakable.</p><p>She’d seen that type of trauma in old war veterans she’d fitted with new limbs and bionic assisters. Age didn’t matter. Face it was didn’t matter.</p><p>The glaring terror of a war-haunted person was always the same ghostly colour.</p><p>To hell with her curiosity and fear of the whole situation, <em>this</em> was altruism. It was poisoning her and pushing one foot in front of the other. The double scowled at the mouth of the woods, staring at its dark tangle of brambles and screeching rodents. Winry ignored the burn in her lungs and forced on last burst of speed.</p><p>“Please.” Winry said through her gasps. “Just stay for a little. We only want to talk. I called Al—“ She faltered for a moment, seeing his shoulders drop, hands loosening around the case he carried. “—He can help, I swear.”</p><p>She was careful not to say anything threatening. Treating this guy more like a scared kid or injured animals than a criminal because her heart was splitting open. It cracked and shuttered when he slowly turned to look at her.</p><p>The light reflecting around them made his hair glow a brilliant molten bronze, eyes low and bright. He smiled at her.</p><p>Winry wanted to look away because it was so… <em>sad</em>. His eyes were filled to the brim with frustration and rage and an impossible amount of regret. <em>This</em> Edward was exhausted. She could practically feel the sleeplessness rolling off him, joined in perfect concert with a sense of alienation.</p><p>His face crumpled by a fraction. “I’ve really missed you.”</p><p>“W-what? Missed me?”</p><p>“I can’t be here.” He told her with a pained little grin. It was a look that didn’t belong on Edward’s face.</p><p>“Wait,”</p><p>He brought his hands together in a thunderous clap, a powerful ring moving through the air like a shockwave. A tall earthen wall sprung up in front of him. Winry stumbled back, staring up as a stone fence reached twenty feet high and closed around the woods. It stretched along the parameter for fifty feet, stirring up a plume of dust and dead leaves into a tornado of fire hazards. Winry blinked the sand from her eyes and… and he was gone.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Riza thought Ed would snap the pencil in his hand.</p><p>Of course, she understood why. Winry, last they heard, had offered the imposer her guest room and planned to stall him until they arrived.</p><p>While everyone else had fallen asleep—Breda and Havoc each sprawled over empty padded benches, the Colonel and Al having slumped against one another in a way that made her long for a camera—she and Ed remained vigilant and alert.</p><p>Ed was trying to distract himself with work, slogging through equations with twelve layers of complexity and skipping through scientific felonies like it was child’s play.</p><p>He tapped away at a notepad, face screwed up in frustration while his hand flew over the page. It was like he wasn’t even paying attention to what he was writing. They were nearing Resembool and his anxiety only seemed to skyrocket.</p><p>The watch on her wrist had crawled past midnight and she wished sleep would be possible for her or Ed, but knew it was a lost cause. While Ed was stressing about the safety of his friend, she was trying to piece together this slanted, off-kilter mosaic. With nothing but snippets and alleged sightings to go off of, there was too many spaces left open.</p><p>Riza almost simply couldn’t stop thinking about the other Edward.</p><p>Outside of the context of conspiracy and alchemic theorems being calculated to the heavens, she thought about <em>him</em>. The person she saw.</p><p>It had grown to be constant because the sight shook her. At the time there was a lot she didn’t really notice, but each time she looked back there was a new unsettling detail that rushed to the forefront.</p><p>In the beginning it was the slashes and burns cascading from his neck to his left shoulder. Then it was way he’d been hunched forward, hand pressed against his side and looking at her through a haze of pain. The clothes that hung loose from his frame and the exhaustion radiating from his weary smile that had tried to be bright. He seemed to be afraid of her.</p><p>It was a look she’d seen before, but was too scared of the implications to place it.</p><p>Her mind stayed stuck on their brief exchange as the train ground to a halt and Ed unceremoniously slammed his book shut, startling Breda onto the floor. Al jerk upright so fast that he head butted Mustang in the jaw.</p><p>The younger Elric had barely bothered with an apology, too frantic about dragging them off their seats alongside his brother.</p><p>Winry was sitting on the front steps, a thick blanket held around her shoulders and a light in hand, scanning the road they approached on. She looked rather miserable, head held low in her hands and chewing at her lip.</p><p>“It’s not Envy.” She said before anyone could open their mouths. “He used alchemy when he left.”</p><p>“Well that’s a big fuckin’ wrench in our theories.” Ed huffed, offering her a hand up. She accepted it and let him pull her upright. Riza was mildly surprised he didn’t admonish the admittedly reckless move to bring the other Edward into her home.</p><p>She’d been inform by Al that the girl’s grandmother was out on a service call for the next week or so in Table City, so it would’ve left Winry alone. Neighbours were almost a mile down the road. The brothers had every right to chide her, but they both relented with sturdy frowns.</p><p>Al took the lead, climbing the steps and holding the door open while the four officers filed inside.</p><p>Ed spoke quietly to her before they followed. Riza didn’t catch what was said, but Winry gave a small laugh and swatted at his shoulder.</p><p>“So,” Mustang took up one of the seats scattered about the room, looking to Winry as she settled onto a chair, “care to fill us in?”</p><p>Winry explained quickly as she could, growing clinical and rather detached from the words right up until the end of her story. Winry’s face grew shadowy. Riza straighten and leaned forward, trying to glimpse the look in her eye that had briefly glowed with conflict.</p><p>“He didn’t say a word the whole time but right before he ran off, he said something weird.” Winry frowned, fiddling with what looked like a piece of automail fit for a toy doll. She’d started from scratch as she explained what happened and Riza had to remind herself to not simply stare at the girl’s hands as they absently pulled materials from nowhere and put them together.</p><p>“What?” Ed prompted. He’d unintentionally followed her lead and was spinning a pen between his fingers. Riza wondered if either of them even realized they were doing it.</p><p>“He said he’d missed me. Past tense. Then he did that <em>clap</em> you all do,”She waved to Al and Mustang, “and then there was a wall covering half the woods.”</p><p>“Half?!”</p><p>“Hyberbole.”</p><p>Al hummed in response, methodically setting out the most important bits of knowledge they’d managed to scrounge together over the kitchen table. “Well, that’s another thing for the list of mysteries. I’m guessing you got a good look at him?”</p><p>Winry nodded. “Suppose so.”</p><p>“You and the Lieutenant might want to compare notes. You two are the only ones who have actually seen him.” Riza meet the younger girl’s gaze with a smile. She returned the expression.</p><p>“I think Al and I are gonna head to the library for some archive digging.”</p><p>Winry gave him a look. “You realize it’s almost one in the morning, right? Library’s closed.”</p><p>Ed waved her off and drifted away to rummage through what looked like a toolbox. He picked through the contents, slipping slim screwdrivers and twisted rods into his pockets. It culminated in a decent sized hammer and Riza heard the soft sputtering of Havoc and Breda as they eyed him.</p><p>“Which is why we’re going to break in.” Al told her, smiling and deadly.</p><p>Ed grinned at the younger. “Telepathy.”</p><p>“You two are crazy.”</p><p>Ed planted a hand on Winry’s head with a smug smirk. “But you already knew that.”</p><p>She shook him off, looking pointedly between the brothers. “Go on, you damn criminals. Out of my house.”</p><p>“Sure,” Ed grabbed Mustang by the arm, sending a sickly sweet look to Riza, “hope you don’t mind if we borrow this?” Mustang swatted Ed’s arm away and stood, arms folded over his chest.</p><p>She laughed. “Go right ahead. Don’t be too hard on yourselves.”</p><p>Ed saluted, pushing a very miffed Colonel out the door. Even from beyond the interior of the house, she could feel the lighthearted air Ed had thrown on melt away into a hushed discussion. Mustang’s demeanour had been equally performative, expression switching from annoyed to soberingly serious before the lock clicked into place.</p><p>Riza worried that one day they’d be able to cover things well enough for her to look right past it. It loomed far off in the distant, but when their skills at acting reared up the shadow it cast would grow a little bit longer.</p><p>Havoc and Breda politely asked if there was an inn nearby, to which Winry frowned. “We’ve got spare rooms.” She said with a gesture.</p><p>“I owe you my life.” Breda muttered. They were half asleep already and only managed to peel off their jackets before falling into the set of beds tucked away in the back part of the house.</p><p>“Is it alright if we’re here?” Riza asked. “We wouldn’t want to impose.”</p><p>“It’s fine. There’s another room and a few couches for you to use. Ed and Al will probably crash in my Grandma’s room.” She tilted her head, expression falling. “Can you keep a secret Lieutenant?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Winry glanced around the room and then motioned to the door. Riza followed her outside and sat down on the steps. Winry pulled in a long breath, gazing out at the dark landscape. Almost wistfully, the younger sighed. “The entire time he was here, I though he might break down.”</p><p>Riza blinked. “Pardon?”</p><p>Winry’s chin rested in her palms. She looked confused beyond anything else and it wasn’t a look that suited her very well. “I thought he was going to cry or something. I touched his arm and he almost fell over.”</p><p>“That’s… odd.” She admitted softly. Looking back at her own encounter though, it seemed to track well enough. He’d been cagey and skittish. She remember his eyes following her hand rather than her face, like there was an expectation for her to shoot instead of speak. The implications made her throat feel a little tight.</p><p>“I’ve never seen someone look that tired, honestly.”</p><p>“We need to stay on guard.” Riza told her with as much compassion as she could spare. Clearly this had shaken the girl up a bit.</p><p>Maybe Winry was leaving out something she’d seen. Maybe she’d gotten a better look at the scars Riza had only glimpsed. She’d seen it too though, the exhausted dignity the double held himself with. The slant to his smile that seemed nostalgic and sewn with wishful thinking. Riza had been pondering each detail for weeks now. Their speculations and what she’d come face to face with were thoroughly divorced from one another. Riza was sure Winry felt the same.</p><p>The unsteady person didn’t match the vivd expectations of a dangerous shape shifter or criminally-made puppet.</p><p>After a long moment, Winry exhaled in a puff. “I know. I’ll be careful.”</p><p>“Alright.” Riza replied stiffly. A gale bit through the night and she suppressed a shiver. She didn’t request to go back in, seeing the look of dull comfort on the younger’s face. Riza folded her arms and stared into the dark, watching it twist along with her imagination. None of it was all that pretty.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was an unholy hour in the morning.</p><p>Ed had buried himself up to the elbows with reading material. Mustang and Al were sitting at a table like <em>normal people</em> while he was perched atop a shelf, crosslegged and swaying at the edge. Al warned him that he’d fall off. Ed responded with a cheerful smile and motioning his finger slicing across his neck.</p><p>The younger rolled his eyes and took a swan dive into a row of biology-related book while Ed chipped away at physics. Mustang was reviewing medicinal sciences, dabbling in history every so often when one book hinted to another only to laugh in their faces when the lead turned to ashes.</p><p>Ed hadn’t really been made for physics and math, but it was only off by a few feet from the stubborn intricacies of alchemy, so he didn’t have much problem shifting gears. The journals and reports divulged into pure theory. From the corner of his eye, Ed saw Mustang tear another piece of paper from his notes and hurtle it away, head buried in his studies with a soft thunk.</p><p>“Mass hallucinations.” He declared.</p><p>“We have a photo.” Al reminded him.</p><p>“Could’ve been faked.” Mustang sunk lower into this hands, sending a weak glare at the younger.</p><p>Al shot him a withering, unimpressed look. The older man grabbed the expression by the throat and chucked it back with the skill of a caber-tossing champion. It was kind of awe striking how quickly the lack of sleep had allowed Mustang to mirror casual insults traded in volleys between the brothers that he normally would only partake in with Ed.</p><p>He’d stopped worrying about Al’s skin not being thick enough, apparently, and was freely shooting verbal darts at the both of them.</p><p>The poor idiot didn’t realize they had <em>way</em> more experience than he ever would and struck bullseyes down the middle every round. Years of using each other as target practice had them well prepared.</p><p>Mustang came back each time though. Persistent wasn’t the right word, but it was the closest thing Ed could think to describe the dark haired alchemist.</p><p>Perhaps plain old stubborn, stupid pride fitted him better.</p><p>Al didn’t look up from his book as he replied. “I can’t think of a single reason why someone would do that, but you’re sleep deprived and talking in loops so…”</p><p>Ed crammed his nose further into the text and tried to refocus on the ramblings about alters and general relativity and <em>blah blah blah</em> physics jargon, self impressed vocabulary and—</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>. Something useful…? Perhaps he wouldn’t need to beat Truth over the head after all.</p><p>“Maybe because you two dragged me off to commit crimes in the dead of night.”</p><p>“<em>Pfft</em>. Like you haven’t done that before.”</p><p>Ed started to underline the words, annotating frantically as a grin stretched over his lips. Triumphant and devilishly on brand, Ed leaned off the side of the shelf, peering down at the two alchemists.</p><p>“Hey!” They ceased fire for a moment and glanced to Ed. “Have either of you ever heard of string theory?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The wall was certainly made with alchemy. Not that Roy had been doubting Winry’s story, he just wanted to be sure before they ruled out the homunculus angle. They didn’t know much more about the theoretical puppets and what said beings could be capable of, so it remained a possibility.</p><p>Other than that, everyone was sort of stumped.</p><p>Ed and Al were still at the library, hidden away in a corner. They hadn’t even been noticed when the staff members began to filter in. But Ed had a hunch and they’d summersaulted their way into a book tower of Biblical sized tomes, exclusively occupied by information on <em>phenomenology</em> and <em>boson</em> and other words that Roy didn’t fully process. They flew over his head while the Elric’s grabbed hold and were whisked away by the whims of knowledge. Roy had tapped out when they’d started speaking in tongues and he wasn’t sure if they’d noticed his absence yet.</p><p>“We’ll go in twos. Comb the area but stay within earshot.”</p><p>“Sir.” The three nodded in unison. His team had traded their casual clothing for uniforms in case anyone thought to question them. They’d be able to claim some type of military inspection and shoo civilians away if they got too close.</p><p>It technically wasn’t a lie. They were inspecting something, and al four were members of the Amestrian military. The two just happened to be unrelated and semantics belonged in a dumpster fire.</p><p>Hawkeye stayed close to him the entire time the searched, head whipping towards the slightest cracking of sounds and looking on edge.</p><p>“Something wrong?” He asked.</p><p>“Frustrated is all.” Roy nodded and tucked away the inflection in her voice for later inspection. He’d already been gone when she and Winry were recounting their run-ins with the doppelgänger, but she’d been quite since he returned from the library. It could’ve been from a lack of sleep—Roy knew she failed to get rest on the journey into the countryside—but something told him it wasn’t and Roy had learned to trust his intuition. He’d also learned to choose his battles and this wasn’t one that he wanted to fight. Not now, not ever. So he kept his mouth shut and peeled his eyes, searching for footprints or broken branches. Roy had hoped maybe the track-marks of alchemy would be scattered over the ground, but there was nothing.</p><p>Hawkeye called to him an hour in to their search.</p><p>“Glasses...” She said, holding them up to the sunlight filtering through the woods. “They’re real too. Not for show.” His eyes tracked down to the concentrated light hovering over the forest floor. He squinted at them critically, taking note of the crack running through the left lens and the wealth of nicks that had been scratched along the metal rims.</p><p>Roy frowned as Hawkeye slipped the glasses into her pocket and they carried on, picking their way through. On occasion, Roy spotted shallow footprints. They’d trail for a few steps and then vanish into the mud or be washed away by a little stream of water.</p><p>More oddities were found throughout the search. Torn pieces of cloth and, late into the day, Roy stumbled across what <em>had</em> to have been a fire pit.</p><p>There was the charred remains of branches, some still smouldering and suddenly the initial report of counterfeit money made sense: whoever...<em>whatever</em> this kid was, it was apparent that he didn’t have anything.</p><p>He waved the other three over and started poking through the dying embers. Breda and Hawkeye went digging through the bushes, trampling shrubs and snapping twigs as they went. Havoc traced a hard-packed section of the ground with a troubled frown.</p><p>“Looks like he slept here.” He muttered. Roy’s brow furrowed, flicking over another piece of blackened wood and...</p><p>He blinked.</p><p>“Boss?”</p><p>Roy slowly reached forward and pulled a piece of paper from the pit, singed and thin. It was absolutely covered in writing. Havoc shuffled closer to gap at the thing. It was blanketed in hasty cursive, front and back, a code of some kind permeating each turn of phrase.</p><p>“Jackpot.” He breathed, folding it delicately while the crashing of footsteps returned from the underbrush.</p><p>“Sir,” Hawkeye clutched something carefully, brushing off mud and flecks of grass from the object held in both hands, “this was caught in an outcrop. It’s broken.”</p><p>She held it up for him to examine. It looked like ceramic, scuffed and chipped but still retaining the slight gleam of a decent finish. The strangest thing though, was that it was shaped like a—</p><p>“Is that a foot?” Havoc asked, confused and disbelieving.</p><p>“It looks like automail but, like, wrong.” Roy agreed, looking a little closer, eyes narrowing because, really, what the <em>hell</em>.</p><p>“It does <em>look</em> like automail, but none of us are well versed in the field.” Hawkeye muttered, turning it over gingerly. “Winry would be able to tell though.”</p><p>“And I’m going to need the chaos brothers to help decode this mess.” He waved the paper. Breda and Havoc exchanged glances and it told Roy everything he needed to know about their stance on this. It was exactly the same as his: what the hell.</p><p>He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a far too familiar way. “Right. Let’s regroup back at the Rockbell’s."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I feel like I alway say this but holy hell thank you all so so much for all the support??<br/>I really was out here clowning... thinking this fic was gonna have a small audience. Worms for brains, I guess!<br/>Also we've been gifted, positively blessed with some stunning <a href="https://holl-ess.tumblr.com/post/625643743914164225/it-all-came-crashing-down-edward-slowly-peered">art</a>.<br/>I burst into tears when I saw it. (To be fair I do that every time someone draws anything based off my fics.) It's breathtaking and I implore you all to give it and the rest of that artists work a looksy cause it's gorgeous.<br/>As usual I hope this chapter is enjoyed and I love y'all! Until next week!</p><p>(Sidebar: Yes I'm changing some of the details about Edward's "automail" for Reasons. I basically redesigned it lmao)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Haasje-over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: War/ war time living conditions. Bombings. Character death. Non-graphic violence, gun violence and brutality. Implied panic attacks.<br/>(This chapter is a bit heavy, if there's anything I missed let me know)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Living in Rostock started out fine. A lot of things in his life started out fine, but just like all the rest, it pitched downhill soon enough.</p><p>They rented out the attic of a run down theatre. He and Noah covered a quarter of the rent each, and their roommate took the third. You’d think it would be cramped, three adults and a young boy all together, but after two years…</p><p>Eh. They were comfortable enough around each other.</p><p>Their housemate was a burly guy with muddy red hair and a knack for teasing the daylights out of Edward.</p><p>(“Name’s Devon!” He’d said when they first moved in. “Call me Dev. Makes me sound less like a Scott, if you know what I mean. Percy? Percy! Come say hello! Son, these are our new housemates…”)</p><p>He worked at a paper mill and brought all the botched slips of parchment back like a bird bringing twigs to its nest</p><p>“Hey Goldie!” He called for the millionth time when he returned from a day of work.</p><p>Edward glared at him from his desk, hunched over a blueprint and double-fisting pitch black coffees. “You ever gonna stop calling me that?” He asked with a scowl.</p><p>“You ever gonna stop responding to it?” Dev sang back, smiling innocently.</p><p>“I—oh screw you.”</p><p>They spent evenings around a dinner table brimming with leftovers and cobbled-together soups, shepards pies and stir-fry.</p><p>Some nights Noah and Dev would polish up an old record-player and skip around in circles, laughing and minding the hitched up floorboards with easy familiarity. Edward and Percy would watch from the sidelines, holding up handmade signs. Percy always gave them a ten out of ten, smiling with a face that looked like it belonged in a grandmother’s palm. Edward flashed them fours and fives to the tune of Noah’s loud protests.</p><p>The boy, with his bright red hair and lilting lisp, would sit with Edward and agonize over how to create the perfect paper airplane. He stuck his head out the window and aimed for the same parallel rooftop until Edward finally leaned down and showed him his to tear the wings just right so they’d flight straight.</p><p>“My kid’s a genius.” Dev said, watching Percy fold newspapers into projectiles and babble on about aerodynamics.</p><p>Percy was a smart kid. He started to memorize Edward’s designs and begged to read his books on physics. Edward smiled and explained every detail while Percy stared at the unfurled display of notes and diagrams.</p><p>Most nights like that ended with Edward having to carry Percy to bed and piling on quilts.</p><p>He told the boy stories about alchemy and watched him light up with wonder, declaring that one day, he too would be an alchemist. Edward mussed his hair and grinned.</p><p>On weekends, they’d gather around a spot in the corner where the wallpaper peeled away to reveal a birds-eye view of velvety curtains and a wooden stage. Weekdays they took to the catwalk to watch rehearsals.</p><p>The days when Edward skipped out for the sake of working, chipping away at some new idea that probably should’ve been left in a shoebox, he’d be badgered by all three until he relented.</p><p>“Ed…” Noah called with a sly look.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Please!” She wore puppy eyes like she had a monopoly on the expression itself, tugging his arm while music seeped through the floorboards. It came from a show they’d watched a thousand times through cracks of the walls and traded sweet-bread over the catwalk when they lost a bets on which violinist would break a string.</p><p><em>Fucking La Bohème</em>.</p><p>Edward slapped her hand away from his shoulder and rose from his desk, looking exasperated. Noah beamed and pranced to the open space between the kitchen and living room while Edward set his reading glasses atop his pile of notebooks.</p><p>On occasion, they danced.</p><p>It was a bright morning when Edward finally noticed. He caught on to the fact that there were a few too many police were prowling the streets like predators and a hand resting on their holsters.</p><p>No more than a week later, everyone was called out from their homes and had to wait in long lines to be <em>registered</em>—name, date of birth, ailments, ethnic background, religion, an assessment of loyalty and <em>ten million</em> bright red flags—the whole time he felt like there might as well have been guns to their heads.</p><p>Edward drew in a deep breath and lied right to the officers face when they questioned him.</p><p>“Would you turn in a traitor if they were your friend or a family member?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Noah watched him retreat from the desk, looking pale. He gave her a hard grin.</p><p>“Jokes on them.”</p><p>She shook her head with a careful whisper. “You shouldn’t say that so loud.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The factory Edward worked at started to become less transparent about what they were making and some of the other employees grew suspicious.</p><p>They kept their mouths shut because what was there to do? Questions were deflected and demands ended in a slap on the wrists at best, unemployment at worst. It would be best to simply avoid digging into the problem altogether.</p><p>Edward grit his teeth and bit his tongue when he overheard patriots and officers muttering out indecencies.</p><p>He started working overtime and learned that Spain was a good place for refugees. There was a special place, hidden in a cathedral.</p><p>The Court of Miracles, they called it.</p><p>Because of fucking<em> course</em> that’s what it was called. Ask to go and they’d say you’d be granted a saint.</p><p>There was only so much room. Edward had to double down. It hadn’t been safe for Noah from the start and having everything be jotted down in files for cops to sneer at made his anxiety fly through the ceiling tiles and into the atmosphere.</p><p>It would cost more than he could afford, so he started to work overtime, staying later and later at the factory until one night he regretted it.</p><p>He really should’ve known better because curfew had become earlier and more strict. He shouldn’t have been outside at all. People had started to bar their doors at night. He should’ve <em>known</em>.</p><p>“You’re behind schedule.” A voice growled. Edward caught the flash of a badge and swallowed back a gasp. He hid between two buildings and kept his lips sealed, listening intently to the exchange.</p><p>“The workers are getting restless!” Cried another person. He recognized the voice as one of the factory managers. Edward stilled, his back pressed to the brick wall, breathing shallow and head cocked to the side.</p><p>“You knew what would happen if you missed another deadline.”</p><p>“I know. Please, just one week and the bomb attachments will be fin—“ A gunshot rang out and Edward flinched so hard his teeth sank into the side of his cheek. He kept as still as he could, hearing the wet thump of a body against the asphalt. His stomach lurched and he felt his legs lock in place.</p><p>The sound of footsteps retreating was like a chorus of screaming devils while Edward struggled to keep his horror contained. He stayed frozen there for nearly an hour before he was sure the policeman was gone.</p><p>The stains were still there.</p><p>He ran home in the dark and spent the night with Dev handing him a bucket and begging him so say something.</p><p>Edward’s teeth didn’t stop chattering until the next morning. The only way he was able to sleep was after Dev sighed. “You’re dead on your feet, Goldie. Here,” He handed Edward a worn glass that reeked of rum and Edward knocked it back before he could consider other options. He started carrying a gun in his bag after that.</p><p>Edward passed notes to his co-workers between shifts and their resolve began to swell.</p><p>“Weapons?”</p><p>“That’s what they have us doing?!”</p><p>“Factory manager was listed as missing…”</p><p>“You’re saying they—oh god I’m going to be sick.”</p><p>“This is wrong.”</p><p>He was proud of it, in an odd sort of way. That’s not to say things really got better, but it felt like hope was crawling up through the ground and nestling by his feet; it was just close enough to feel lighter.</p><p>Then the first raid happened.</p><p>In the dead of night, Edward woke up to Percy crying. He pointed out the window to where flames bloomed over the city and lights flared above. Like a rotten garden of human nastiness, it flourished. Seeds were dropped down and sprouted into fresh tragedies.</p><p>The hissing of engines flittered through the sky as they ran down the steps to the main floor, hands locked on one another. Edward’s ears where ringing and he was sure his grip on his housemates would result in bruises. He’d likely have ones to match from their tight grasps.</p><p>Ten hours in almost pitch darkness made his mind wander dangerously. The four of them huddled together in the basement, Noah clutched Percy to her chest as he sniffled, leaning into Edwards shoulder. Dev’s arms were somehow big enough to circle them all and he would squeeze just a little tighter when there came poundings from above.</p><p>One by one, they fell asleep. Adrenaline left them weary. Edward’s eye stung and his blinked viciously, head tipped up and watching the blurry outline of wooden beams quivering. It was the dust that made his eyes start to water.</p><p>“Ed.” Noah whispered. He thought she’d fallen asleep along with the rest, but her voice was alert and brittle. “I think I’m going to loose my job. They said…”</p><p>“It’s alright.” He muttered back, dutifully ignoring the soft shake that came with her words. “I can cover the rent until you find another one.”</p><p>“Do you think they’ll tell people where we live?”</p><p>“I... I don’t know.”</p><p>Silence fell in thick blankets over their heads. It was warm and suffocating.</p><p>“Quite a group we are, hum?” She huffed bitterly. “An amputee, a Scotsman and a Roma girl.”</p><p>“A fuckin’ <em>awesome</em> group.” Edward corrected. Noah rested her head against his shoulder.</p><p>“They hate us.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They celebrated Percy’s ninth birthday underground.</p><p>With candles lighting up their faces and lamps hanging from the walls, they all tried to smile.</p><p>Edward downed a few painkillers while they went through the motions of feeble party games because he’d had left logical thinking on a shelf and decided that going out past curfew was a good idea.</p><p>He’d wanted to snag some evidence for his peers who didn’t believe there was anything wrong.</p><p>Some young officer had seen him through the shadows and was more than happy to light up the street with the pull of a trigger.</p><p>It clipped Edward just below the elbow and he ended up stitching the graze closed himself on the steps leading to the attic.</p><p>It hadn’t been very deep and stung with the same force as a normal old cooking burn. But Edward still had to hold in a grimace when Percy grabbed his arm and told him to make a wish.</p><p>(“I want to share it!” The boy grinned. “You all get a piece of my wish.”)</p><p>How about making the world safe enough to buy a child a gift? Wouldn’t that be fucking grand.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was terrifying how fast the fire started to rain down.</p><p>The trembling, booming sound of falling timber and explosions was almost expected, hardly bringing the shock it did in the beginning. Their neighbourhood dug a bunker and forty or so people crammed inside together. They’d light oil lamps in the dark while the ceiling spat soil and threatened their lives with cracks running through the stone.</p><p>Percy hung onto Edward’s back as they ran because this time was <em>worse</em>.</p><p>It was right overhead, not a few blocks over. Not off in the distance where the harbour shook hands with the horizon. Planes swooped above their borough like vultures picking at dead livestock.</p><p>“The floorboards.” Noah gripped his arm as they ran. “The chest. We need that money. Ed what’re we gonna—“ He shoved Percy into her arms and turned on his heel.</p><p>“Edward!” He heard her cry and Dev urged that they had to get out of the open.</p><p>Edward ducked into the theatre and tore the wooden panels apart, earning slivers large enough that they ran right through his fingers and almost yanking off his own nails. “C’mon. Where’s the key. Where’s the damn key.”</p><p>He resorted to kicking the lock one, two, <em>six</em> times before it cracked open. Edward grabbed the savings, drawstring pulled tight, his breathing raw and panicked.</p><p>Edward flew down the steps and out the door only to go slack-jawed as detonations swallowed the block.</p><p>He tried not to be distracted by the cries of distress and wailing of sirens as he fell into a sprint. A heavy bang rocked the ground below him and he was knocked into a wall, head spinning and ears ringing. His knees buckled but his hands held fast around the bag. Children shouted and screamed, their parents latching onto them, running through the streets.</p><p>Edward felt something hot running from his temple. His ears buzzed and pounded.</p><p>He dragged his gaze up at the high whistling of a reaper as it dived through the clouds and smoke, parting ash around its nose like the red fucking sea and letting dark things fall from its underbelly.</p><p>His eyes went wide.</p><p>
  <em>Bomb.</em>
</p><p>Edward shot to his feet and scrambled away, pitching forward and almost tripping as he threw himself into an alleyway, back slamming against the stone and covering his ears.</p><p>A blast tore through him.</p><p>The shockwave shook his bones and made his chest rattle. Edward felt his head slam back and the sickly taste of embers burned over his lips, cracked and dry and iron-flooded.</p><p>Something bubbled with a soft hiss in his ear and things got very quiet for a moment.</p><p>Had his eardrum burst?</p><p>Blood ran down his jaw and spilled down his neck. There was a split where his skull had been cracked back against the bricks.</p><p>Edward waited for the quivering of the world to stop and sound slowly returned, looking through the dust with his sleeve held over his mouth.</p><p>He almost wished everything had stayed mute.</p><p>Edward stood, wobbling over the rubble-wreathed street and ran onwards. His skin crawled with soot, ashes showered down from singed windowsills.</p><p>Three blocks of keeping his eyes glued to the sky, trying not to fall over streetlights or ruptured curbs. Three blocks till he made it to a cellar-like door and shouted for someone to open it, arms still tied in place by panic, unable to knock.</p><p>He collapsed the moment the bunker doors fell shut and had to be carried down the sloping steps where his housemates gripped each others hands. He grinned wearily, holding up the cargo. “Go it.”</p><p>Noah cursed him out something fierce before touching the fresh collection of gashes. She was angry, absolutely livid, but terrified all the same.</p><p>“I’m okay.” He tried to say.</p><p>“You’re bleeding.”</p><p>“I’m okay.”</p><p>Noah held gauze to his head while Percy cried and apologized over and over into his father’s shoulder.</p><p>Edward couldn’t fathom why he would need to be sorry, but he ruffled the boys hair and swiped a thumb over his cheek. “We’ll make airplanes tomorrow.”</p><p>He shook his head, tiny hands fisting into Edwards shirt, mumbling through his hiccups. “No airplanes. They’re scary.”</p><p>“Boats, then.”</p><p>The earth groaned and shook.</p><p>All four of them sat tucked into a corner, listening to the hushed sobs of people who no longer had homes or suffered from grief. He saw some hugging pieces of cloth to their chests, others staring blankly as tears fell.</p><p>He held Noah’s hand and let Dev pull them close, Percy cradled between their dirtied arms. “We’re really in it now.” Dev chuckled, the sound doused in bitterness. It made Edward want to squirm. “We’re really in a war.”</p><p>“So what.” Edward spat. “Fire can’t kill shit like us.”</p><p>“Easy, Goldie.” Dev planted a hand on Edwards head and he couldn’t help but melt into the reassurance.</p><p>He was still young. Nineteen years old and on his third round of trauma tag. He couldn’t outrun it.</p><p>Edward slumped and relished the feeling of air filling his lungs; a heavy hand carding through his untied locks; the redhead that was snuggled in his lap and Noah’s heartbeat thundering vividly.</p><p>The bombs kept on crashing down like gods fucking wrath. Edward didn’t pray, but he pressed his nose into the crook of his arm and memorized the whirring of his blood as it tried to race somewhere safe. But this was all they had.</p><p>They were stuck there until past the sunrise, sleeping upright and shying away from the fissures crawling towards the floor.</p><p>It was loud in the bunker all the while. And the flames echoed, somehow.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The theatre survived by a hair and Edward had never been so happy to see the stupid, melodramatic doorways still standing tall.</p><p>Their lives settled for just a little while. The raids lessened, targeting the downtown area and waterfront rather than the shoddy little district they’d holed up in. </p><p>Shows stopped running, but somehow Noah convinced him to join her once or twice more, Percy parading on his father’s shoulders while they let the world fall away and listening to a broken record replay their favourite part of a song.</p><p>So much that it started to distort.</p><p>It wasn’t long before food became a bit of an issue. It was expensive and increasingly scarce. Edward found himself sneaking portions of his meal onto Percy and Noah’s plates when they weren’t paying attention. He thought no one would notice.</p><p>Dev walked up to him one night.</p><p>“What?” Edward asked.</p><p>He slapped the younger hard across the face.</p><p>“What the hell is wrong with you?!” He cried in a hushed tone.</p><p>Edward stared at him, confused and dazed. The man pulled back. “I know you’re not eating right. You think I’m blind? I <em>seen</em> you doing it.”</p><p>“I—“</p><p>“Edward have you looking in a mirror lately?” Dev asked, looking more stern than he’d ever been before. He ran a hand through his hair anxiously. “<em>Skin and bone.</em> You—You’re going to kill yourself if you keep this up.”</p><p>“I’ll stop.” He said.</p><p>Dev gripped his shoulders tightly. “Don’t pull anything like that again, you hear? It ain’t right.”</p><p>Dev didn’t see Edward childishly cross his fingers behind his back.</p><p>More people at the factory were turning up their noses at work, completing tasks unnecessarily slow and letting venom coat every word to their superiors. Edward would feel pride cleave through his heart and he’d make sure every break he took was stretched thin and pushed far past the limits.</p><p>“We’re not going to fight their war.” Some would say.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Fish is on sale. I saw so yesterday.” Percy told him excitedly. They strode over the sidewalk each with a bag in hand and Edward with a list of things they needed.</p><p>“I dunno if I’d <em>want</em> fish,” he replied, “they’re always looking at you.”</p><p>“They are not,”</p><p>Edward held in a chuckle. “Yes they are. I swear I’ve seen those beady little eyes move.”</p><p>“You big liar! They’re not even alive! How could they be looking anywhere?” Percy gawked at him indigently. The blond shook his head.</p><p>“I have never told a lie in my life. Those are zombie fish.”</p><p>Percy opened his mouth to debate, but fell silent as they started to round a corner.</p><p>“Like the ones from The Magic Island?”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>“…I don’t want fish either.”</p><p>They started along a larger street and Edward stiffened.</p><p>From his peripheral he caught sight of a platform and yanked the boy back by the collar and hissing at him to shut his eyes.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“The... there’s a zombie right over there. You can’t look or it’ll know we’re here.”</p><p>Percy was too young for this; he was too kind and good to see people strung up in the middle of town like animals with paper tags on their feet.</p><p>He walked as fast he he could without tripping the younger.</p><p>“Can I look now?”</p><p>“No.” Edward said, shielding Percy as best he could with his hand still held against his face like a blindfold. “Not yet, buddy.” He hurried them along, head down and eyes low.</p><p>Percy knew better than to ask questions. He didn’t know how to spot a bad lie, though. Thankfully.</p><p>Edward went back later and forced himself to walk forward, right up to the crude stage and swallow back the discomfort prickling at his neck.</p><p>Edward drew in a deep breath and stared long and hard at the gaunt, bloodless faces. He committed their features to memory and repeated their names in his head, read from a plaque over their heads.</p><p>The sign called them fools and traitors.</p><p>Edward would’ve called them heroes.</p><p>He saw they way everyone else bustled through the square and refused to so much as glance at the rope necklaces or look any higher than their shoes. He couldn’t blame them—the sight was awful and gruesome—but their willing ignorance made his fists clench nonetheless.</p><p>People didn’t care. They wouldn’t remember.</p><p>So he would.</p><p>He ended up standing there for almost an hour, legs aching whilst chimneystacks droned on and coughed out smoke. Edward studied every fold of clothing and wrinkle on their faces until his eyes stung and he had to leave before the smell—the fucking <em>smell</em>—started to seep into his skin.</p><p>The hollow corpses would sway on blustery days.</p><p>Edward changed their route to the grocery store to avoid that particular square and learned to burn the right fliers when they arrived on their windowsill.</p><p>Without a proper job and a target on her back, Noah started to paint and Dev found people to sell to. Unable to leave the attic, now with a empty space between the walls just in case of the worse came to pass, Noah still insisted she help with paying for meals. She made dyes all on her own and started out using Edward as a canvas.</p><p>He didn’t notice at first when she peeled away the synthetic skin. “Can I paint your arm?” She asked.</p><p>He shrugged and didn’t give the request a second thought until the night sky was sprawled over the ceramic limb, vibrant with stars and a hint of dusk. “I need practice.” She explained.</p><p>Edward nodded and gapped at the colours. It felt like it had been ages since he’d seen proper constellations, the smog having grown thick and knitting itself to the rooftops.</p><p>“Will you paint my other ones?” Edward asked. He inward winced at how… <em>excited</em> he became. The almost <em>juvenile</em> wonder was out in the open, but the smile didn’t lessen, even as his ears grew pink with embarrassment. Noah almost jumped at the question.</p><p>“Yes! Of course!” She ran around the room collecting her supplies and chattering excitedly about flowers and landscapes. Edward’s knees bounced and he felt a little bit hopeful.</p><p>The feeling didn’t even last through the week.</p><p>The police showed up at the end of his shift one day. They told him to clock out and wait in the break room. Edward complied.</p><p>Four others filed in one by one and the dread started to build in his stomach. They were all people who sorted the materials, ones who Edward knew had been rather outspoken about their disapproval.</p><p>They ruined shipments on purpose and threw sugar into fuel tanks. He didn’t know their names, but they exchanged nervous glances with one another.</p><p>Six officers entered the room, one with the decorations of a Deputy Commissioner stamped to his lapels.</p><p>He had green eyes and glasses. Ed felt lightheaded at the sight.</p><p>“Don’t resist.”</p><p>A blindfold was pulled tight over his eyes, head snapped back by the force and a pair of hands gripped his wrists, yanking his shoulder blades uncomfortably.</p><p>“<em>Walk</em>.” A voice hissed into his ear.</p><p>They were marched out, through the halls and into the outdoors. It smelled like salt and tar.</p><p>He was pushed and shoved along as ground below him turned from asphalt to gravel and the air became biting. He shivered and it earned him a cuff to the ear. The blow was hard enough to make his head ring and nails dug rivets into his skin from behind.</p><p>Edward tried to count their steps and track the direction they walked in. His calculations landed them in a field. The brushing of metal on leather tapped through the air as they walked. Edward was intimately familiar with the sound a gun made when it was pulled from its holster.</p><p>He recognized the Deputy’s voice when he spoke again.</p><p>“On your knees. All of you.”</p><p>(<em>Hughes Hughes Hughes Hughes.</em>)</p><p>The hands on his arms fell away but Edward stayed upright, scowling and defiant. It was reckless and stupid but he was <em>angry</em>. Beyond that, he was furious and this single moment of refusal sank into his skin, drilling him with a sense of worth.</p><p>At least he’d held his chin up high.</p><p>A foot lashed at the back of his legs and he fell onto the uneven ground, stones digging through his clothes and into his skin. “That wasn’t a request.” The Deputy growled.</p><p>The blindfold was ripped away and the dim light of evening cast long shadows over the empty lot. He and the four other men were lined up, kneeling in the dirt with armed officers standing behind them.</p><p>His heart began to pound.</p><p>“Now,” The man glared at them, “you’re going to put your hands behind your head. Slowly, got it?”</p><p>Edward kept his eyes down and bit his lip hard. He clasped his hands together at the base of his neck while his chest caved, heart nearly breaking his ribs as it slammed into his sternum.</p><p>The click of hammers being drawn back made Edward flinch.</p><p>“Eyes forward.” Snapped one of the police. His jaw trembled, hair spilling over his eyes. There came soft whimpers from his co-workers and Edward swallowed back a fearful, choked sound.</p><p>The gunshots were deafening.</p><p>Edward wondered how long it would be before he felt the bullet. Maybe he wouldn’t feel it at all and would instead simply bleed out as shock numbed him. He cracked open an eye and looked down to find… nothing. There wasn’t any blood or metal ripping through his body.</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. He felt nausea spring to the back of his throat.</p><p>A mock execution… for <em>gods sake</em>. His hands dropped down to his sides. He shook with sickness and relief and terror all at once.</p><p>They were toying with him.</p><p>Edward dragged his eyes to the side and felt his blood curdle. He felt like he was going to throw up because <em>fucking</em> <em>hell </em>it hadn’t been a simple scare tactic.</p><p>There were four bodies splayed over the ground, soaking red into the grass and splattered with gore. His breath stopped coming altogether.</p><p>Four bodies. Bullets through their skulls and he was still alive to see it.</p><p>A gloved hand tangled into his hair and wrenched his face up. The shock fell away and Edward snarled, coming awfully close to biting the Deputy’s finger right off when he grabbed Edward by the jaw and forced their eyes to meet.</p><p>Green against gold.</p><p>(<em>It’s not him. That’s not Hughes.</em>)</p><p>“You’re too valuable to shoot. But we hope you’ve learned your lesson.” Edward reared back and spat into the man’s face.</p><p>He scowled and wiped the saliva away in disgust. “Fine.” He turned to the other officers. “Beat him.”</p><p>And they did.</p><p>The butt of a rifle was knocked against the back of his head just before an officer kicked him in the teeth. Blows rained down, boots digging into his stomach and batons cracking over his shoulders.</p><p>All he could do was curl and wait for it to be over. All he could do was lay there and<em> take it</em>.</p><p>One of the men emptied rounds into the ground around Edward’s head, spraying blood-mixed mud into his eyes and laughing when Edward flinched at each shot.</p><p>He glared down at the blond, two others having dragged him upright by the arms and were twisting his shoulders back.</p><p>“You’ll go back to work tomorrow.” The officer sneered. “You’ll do your job and you’ll tell everyone what’ll happen otherwise. Understand?” Edward could only see him through on eye. The other was sealed shut by blood.</p><p>“Well?” The man asked. Edward glowered through a veil of exhaustion. He was struck across the face. “<em>Do you understand</em>?”</p><p><br/>The blond let his head hang, breathing ragged. There came a soft metallic <em>ting</em> and the sliding of bullets being pushed into place.</p><p>A barrel pressed against his forehead and his breath caught in his throat.</p><p>“I… I understand.”</p><p>The hands left his arms and he dropped to the ground.</p><p>They left him in the field, shuddering and coughing out blood. He didn’t move for a long time.</p><p>Edward managed to stagger home and leaned against the doorframe. They’d emptied his pockets and stolen his keys. So he waited for someone to open as he tapped his knuckles against the entrance weakly.</p><p>It was Noah who answered.</p><p>He stared blankly as she tipped his head back and washed away the stains. Noah gingerly traced the cut over his cheekbone, looking mildly horrified and quickly scanning the rest of him, taking everything in: The broken skin of his lip, the blood still running from his mouth and dark spots speckled over his forehead were his head had been lifted and slammed into the dirt.</p><p>It took almost an hour of cajoling and pleading, but Edward allowed her to cut away his tattered shirt and press ice onto the bruises that bloomed across his back. There were splits running over his left arm from where the batons connected with his flesh.</p><p>Noah’s hands were strict and clinical as they taped bandages over the wounds. Her eyes burned through him and Edward held in a grimace. “You’ve lost weight.” Noah said plainly</p><p>He bowed his head and sighed.</p><p>“You need to get out of this country. Now.”</p><p>“Okay.” She said with watery conviction. “I’ll pack tomorrow.”</p><p>She helped him ease into bed and left a candle on the floor because she knew darkness had started to play with him cruelly.</p><p>At some point in the night, Percy climbed onto his lumpy mattress, laying on his side and shouldering his way between Edwards arms.</p><p>The boy looked past all the bumps and slashes, doing his best to comfort the older in what ways he knew how. Percy wrapped both arms around Edwards middle and hugged him gently. It... it didn’t just break his heart.</p><p>It broke his heart <em>open</em> and he felt horribly, horribly vulnerable.</p><p>“It’ll be okay.” Percy said softly; painfully confident.</p><p>Edward tucked the child closely beneath his chin and cried for the first time in years.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Edward had the nastiest bout of insomnia of his life in the days that followed.</p><p>His eyes would slips shut, then his whole body would spasm and jerk upright, a plea on his lips.</p><p>At first he simply sat in their washroom getting very well aquatinted with the sink drain and toilet bowl. Noah tied back his hair and laid a blanket over him. He eventually passed out on the tiles, exhausted and shivering.</p><p>His three housemates took to piling their mattresses together.</p><p>“Slumber party.” Dev announced. Edward didn’t fight them on it. Percy bundled himself into Edward’s arms while Noah curled around his front, hands laid over his. Dev draped an arm over the three and pulled Edward close to his broad chest.</p><p>He still couldn’t sleep, but he breathed in the feeling of warmth and safety. He stored it away in his heart and memorized the vignette.</p><p>Edward’s gun migrated to his back pocket. His aim got better.</p><p>Three days later he and Noah stood on a train platform, a single ticket and fake identification papers held in Noah’s hand, a heavy suitcase clutched in the other. Edward handed her a letter.</p><p>“You’ll write me back once you get to Spain, alright?” She nodded quietly.</p><p>They’d come up with a code to use. Rumours hand sprung up that letters were being intercepted, scanned and used to track down <em>traitors</em>. They’d hide their messages in travel logs and research notes in the hopes that no one would be looking close enough to catch on.</p><p>Noah slowly meet his eyes. Edward tried for a smile but it fell away when she fixed him with a hard look.</p><p>“And you’ll be right behind me.” She stated firmly.</p><p>“As fast as I can.” He said. It was nauseatingly easy to pull the truth into a brittle veil. Of course he would <em>try</em>, but faith had been drained away by the sounds of bullets in the streets and kids asking why their parents hadn’t come home.</p><p>The whistle cut through the air and Edward gave her a thin smile. Her face fell.</p><p>Noah lunged forward and wrapped him up in a hug so tight and fierce he thought his ribs would fracture. He squeezed back and didn’t say a word at the soft sniffing. She held him and he held her, nervous and excited and begging the same thing silently.</p><p><em>Please don’t leave. </em>Edward shut his eyes.</p><p><em>Please don’t make me leave.</em> Noah’s fingers twisted into his jacket.</p><p>She slowly pulled away, hastily brushing tears away and wearing a smile that swung for the fences and flew overhead. It was brighter than the stars she’d sketched onto his arm and Edward felt his heart twist all the way around until it was braided into a knot.</p><p>He returned the expression, for once letting her keep hold of his hand a little bit longer than necessary.</p><p>“You’re my best friend in the whole damn world.” She said sternly. Edward almost chuckled at how silly it sounded.</p><p>They were caught in a war and she was bestowing him with a childish title; a moniker of the highest order on the playground, yet somehow it made his defences melt.</p><p>A battered and world-weary hope reared its head as something close to trust or familiarity swelled through him. It was a little stronger than that. Love, maybe.</p><p>The type he’d read about in some old text reserved for close friends.</p><p>(<em>Family</em>.)</p><p>“Don’t you dare lie about this.” Her voice wobbled.</p><p>She sounded so <em>tired</em> and it was pulling his soul right out of his body. Thats what it felt like and Edward would fucking <em>know</em>.</p><p>He’d been torn down the middle three times now. All he could do was smile and tilt his head.</p><p>“I’m not lying! When have I ever lied to you?”</p><p>“You do it all the time!” Noah cried indignantly. This time he did laugh. It wasn’t bitter, but it wasn’t all that happy either.</p><p>“Not this time.” He held a hand to his chest, right over his heart in a swear. “I promise I’ll meet you on the other side. You really think I’d abandon someone who put up with me for so long?” She eyed him while her face grew a touch more sorrowful.</p><p>“Okay.” Noah said after a long moment. She held out a hand formally and looked him right in the eyes with a grim, determined flavour of resolve. “Goodbye Edward.”</p><p>“Bye, Noah. Be safe.” He took her hand in a firm shake.</p><p>“Be truthful.” She told him, grip tightening before it fell away. She turned and boarded the train. Edward kept his head low as he exited the platform.</p><p>He stumbled all the way home and right into a bottle of whiskey, holding himself in the corner of his room while whispering came from beyond his door.</p><p>Dev slipped inside, looking worried and conflicted. He stared down at Edward with his hands hanging by his sides and twitching to do something.</p><p>“She’s gone.” Edward croaked. “I made her leave.”</p><p>“Aw Goldie,” Dev gathered him into a hug and Edward didn’t have the energy to protest like he normally did.</p><p>On a good day he’d push the man away with a heaping spoonful of snark stirred into his turn of phrase and an annoyed frown on his lips. But today he just allowed Dev to hold him tightly.</p><p>“I know.” He murmured. “I <em>know</em> you’re hurting.”</p><p>Edward let the bottle of liquor be pulled away and set aside carefully. Dev cupped the back of his head and pressed Edward into his collar, whispering assurances. “You did the right thing, you hear? The <em>right thing</em>. You’ll see her again. We’ll go together.”</p><p>Dev wordlessly dropped painkillers in front of him the next day and said to take the morning off.</p><p>He didn’t. He couldn’t afford to.</p><p>At home he would spend hours working on some new design, or staring at the colourful designs sprayed over his prosthetics and mourning the fact that the one he normally used—newest version—remained incomplete. There was only an acrylic sprawl of daisies and tulips reaching over his shoulder and stopping less than halfway to his elbow.</p><p>It was so dumb and he hated how upset he was over it. He hated how upset he was over a lot of small things.</p><p>Edward never expected to miss dancing, but he did.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He had been in the foyer when the theatre exploded.</p><p>It was evening. He’d trudged home from another nerve-racking and guilt filled day of work, briefcase in hand with a fresh collection of coded notes to send to Noah.</p><p>It had been just over two months and he was writing letters weekly. This would have to be his last one for a while because once again things were nose-diving. More workers were going missing. Dev told him the numbers at the paper-mill had dwindled.</p><p>They were planning to start a journey towards Portugal in a week. Maybe they’d find Noah along the way, maybe they’d meet up somewhere else.</p><p>It didn’t matter.</p><p>They needed to get the <em>fuck</em> out before suddenly they were the ones who’d gone missing.</p><p>So, as thought just to spite him, the theatre exploded.</p><p>Flames burst outwards and the beams above came crashing down.</p><p>Edward’s vision went dim, wavering like it was through a layer of cellophane. He woke up to find himself half crushed by debris and the fabric of his sweater smouldering. It seared into his flesh and burning skin was all he could smell.</p><p>He choked, eyes fluttering and the world around him refused to stop quivering.</p><p>In a valiant, monumental effort to survey the area, Edward turned his head and the fire became ice cold.</p><p>A few feet away was a tuff of red hair, a body showered in rubble and completely still.</p><p>“Percy…” Edward rasped. “P-Percy… Hey!” He started to claw his way out from the beams and heavy paneling that pinned him to the ground.</p><p>He kept calling out the boy’s name and didn’t get a single response.</p><p>It was agonizing to drag himself out, debris cutting through his shirt and dizziness slamming his head into the ground. Edward suffocated on ashes and dust, spiting out bile and bending his nails backwards trying to escape.</p><p>He managed to squirm out of the buildings remains and collapse to his knees beside Percy.</p><p>There was… there was a chunk of the goddamn g<em>ranite flooring</em> weighing the kid down. The stuff that tiled the main floor and hadn’t been cleaned since the air raids. It was like a bolder.</p><p>“Hold on.” He whispered, not knowing if he was even conscious. “Just <em>hold on</em>.” Edward rammed his shoulder against the granite.</p><p>It barely shifted. He hadn’t even bothered to beat out the embers still scoring his skin and surely pressing nasty burns along his shoulder and back.</p><p>It hurt like hell but it wasn’t important.</p><p>Percy was important; he was so small and he hadn’t opened his eyes or even tensed as Edward desperately tried to push the rubble away.</p><p>“Come on. Fucking—<em>move</em>!” He strained against the granite again with a strangled gasp.</p><p>Edward heard voices in the distance, slicing through the roaring of falling walls and fire. “Search the area. We need the bodies.”</p><p>His mind raced and adrenaline poured over his limbs. He shoved and pried and levered and <em>finally</em> the stone shifted away. Edward scrambled to gather Percy’s slack form in his arms.</p><p>He held the boy close, staggering to his feet as the voices of officers and the <em>goddamn Deputy Commissioner</em> grew closer. Percy’s head resting in the crook of his neck, arms dangling limply.</p><p>Edward kicked open the nearest manhole and jumped without a second thought.</p><p>They hit the ground hard and he felt a hard twist in his ankle. Edward bit back a yell, coughing violently into his elbow to cover the pained noise.</p><p>The voices were directly overhead, lights flashing and Edward reeled, crawling back and pressing himself tightly against the walls of the sewer. He might’ve even prayed in that moment, as torches flickered down into the shallow water and officers’ feet pounded from above.</p><p>His breathing came in ragged gasps.</p><p>Edward was scared.</p><p>“Did you check down there?” One asked. He was shaking so hard that he had to cover his mouth to stop his teeth from chattering.</p><p>A beam lashed over him and Edward stilled entirely.</p><p>
  <em>No. Please don’t let them look down here. They’ll take him away. They’ll kill us. They’ll murder us.</em>
</p><p>“The building first. Deputy wants the corpses before the neighbours get too close.”</p><p>He remained utterly frozen until the lights drew away. Edward stood on wavering limbs and he ran through the tunnels, blindly following the water and hoping that it would lead him to the Unterwarnow River.</p><p>There would be boats. There <em>had</em> to be. Someone would be willing to smuggle them out, right?</p><p>Spain. <em>The Court of Miracles.</em></p><p>It might very well cost him the rest of his limbs but <em>damnit</em> he wouldn’t let this kill him; he wouldn’t let this kill Percy; he refused to let this beat him and <em>yes</em>, it was out of spite and rage. But it was fueling him to put one foot in front of the other so <em>who the hell cares</em>.</p><p>He was waterlogged and hardly able to stay upright after almost forty minutes of a dead sprinting. He could see a faint light ahead and Edward barrelled onwards.</p><p>The tunnel spit them out at the riverbed, shrubs and scraggly trees lining the banks. Edward collapsed to his knees, heaving and feeling vaguely sick.</p><p>With as much care as he could, he laid Percy down and tapped his cheek. “Hey. Can you hear me?”</p><p>No response. “Percy, come on buddy. You there?” He shook the boy’s shoulders lightly and panic started to flood through him.</p><p>“You’re gonna be okay.” Edward leaned down, hovering his ear above Percy’s mouth and counted.</p><p>One…three…seven… <em>nothing</em>.</p><p>His eyes went wide. Edward hoisted the redhead up and pressed against his chest, waiting, straining, <em>pleading</em> internally. But Percy was still. Not a thump or pulse.</p><p>“No…” He held a moment longer. Desperation was too small of a word. Panic and horror couldn’t do the feeling justice. Anguish wasn’t even in the same league as whatever it was that Edward was doused in as he searched for a heartbeat.</p><p>“No no no… <em>please, no</em>…” He moaned miserably. He didn’t even care that his breathing had kicked up from gasps to outright hyperventilation.</p><p>
  <em>Percy was dead.</em>
</p><p>He trembled as wind thrashed around him. A broken sound escaped his lips; he held Percy close, furiously gripping his limp frame.</p><p>Edward was crippled with grief and white hot anger. He couldn’t move an inch and his legs started to ache.</p><p>How long had he been carrying a <em>corpse</em>?</p><p>It came crashing over him so hard that he physically fell, bent over the <em>body</em> and wondering if it was even possible to stop this type of heartbreak.</p><p>He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry until he made himself ill and find a stick of dynamite. He’d cram it down the throat of every policeman in the city and most likely be executed like a dog in the streets.</p><p>But Percy was dead and the world was on fire.</p><p>All the blond did was cradle him and wait for his head to stop pounding.</p><p>Edward used his bare hands to dig into the soil, earning cuts and smudges all the way up to his elbow. He only managed to get about two feet down, but it would be enough. He was so little that it wouldn’t matter.</p><p>Edward lowered Percy into the shallow grave and ignored the tears threatening at his eyelashes. He stripped off his ruined jacket and laid it over the boy, unable to bring himself to actually… to fucking <em>bury</em> him.</p><p>He just couldn’t.</p><p>Edward tucked the material around the tiny body and ran before the lurching in his gut ended with stomach acid over the dirt.</p><p>He raced along the riverbank. Everything hurt and he could see flames dancing wickedly over the rooftops.</p><p>When a dock came into view he breathed out a sigh of relief and stumbled up to the man ushering singed and weeping civilians onto one of the five boats strewn over the water.</p><p>Edward averted his eyes from the people gripping scissors and pliers, mouths wailing and bloody.</p><p>The man looked Edward up and down, a cigar jammed between his teeth and an eerie look in his eyes. “Where you headed, kid?”</p><p>“The Court of Miracles.”</p><p>The man sighed and held the cigar between two fingers. “They’re fresh out of saints.”</p><p>“<em>Please</em>.” His voice cracked and it wasn’t worth hiding all the millions of fractured pieces of fear and despair. His pride was firmly washed into the gutter and Edward was ready to beg if he had to because there was no way he could stay here.</p><p>The ship-owner gave him a hard look that softened a little when he meet Edward’s eyes. “What about Sweden?”</p><p>“Sweden?” Ed repeated.</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve got a ship headed to Stockholm. They’re neutral. You’d be safe there but… listen, I’m sorry but I can’t just let you on. I won’t ask for money but do you have <em>anything</em> to pay with?”</p><p>Edward stiffened. He… <em>everything</em> was gone. What could he pay with? The burned clothes on his back? What could he possibly…</p><p>His hand trailed to the nape of his neck where his hair was still tied back, dirty, but long and healthy. He met the man’s eyes.</p><p>“You sure?” He asked warily. Edward nodded with all the resolve he had left. Which wasn’t much, but it was enough.</p><p>“Alright. My hands aren’t very steady, but I’ll try.”</p><p>The man pulled a switchblade from his belt and Edward turned, yanking the band out and letting the muddied gold fall around his shoulders.</p><p>He tried to be still as it was hacked off just below his chin, grasped it in sections and sawing away, but the man had been right.</p><p>His hands weren’t steady.</p><p>The knife jerk back and forth, digging into his skin and leaving bloody trails dripping down. Shallow slashes decorated the back of his neck as his hair fell away. Edward felt numb. He was directed to a tin can of a boat and it reminded him of Percy.</p><p>The captain greeted him with a sad smile and they set off.</p><p>The city was ablaze, dissolving. All he could hear was singing.</p><p>It was horrible.</p><p>“You hear it?” The captain had asked him. “That’s the music of brave people.”</p><p>Edward scoffed. “They’re angry. There’s nothing brave about it.”</p><p>“But you hear it, don’t you. They’re singing now. They’re trying to be holy.”</p><p>“I hear it.”</p><p>“Aye, son. Keep it right here.” He tapped two fingers against Edward’s chest. “Hold it tight and <em>remember</em>. If you don’t remember, no one will.”</p><p>He’d carry that weight for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The trip took two weeks. The weather was bad. He did something really awful before the third sunrise and couldn’t bring himself to be in the same room as the person he’d hurt for the rest of the journey.</p><p>(She thanked him. Over and over, she thanked him through the blood streaming from her mouth and wept. From relief or pain, he didn’t know.)</p><p>Ship fever almost killed Edward halfway through. One of the shipmates had check the wrong arm for a pulse and they’d almost started to drag him to the deck.</p><p>“Not yet.” He muttered. The man looked shocked, and then sympathetic. Little did he know that Edward had no use for pity.</p><p>Edward had a lot of dreams. He had even more nightmares.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He’d dropped his glasses somewhere along the way while he ran. Not that it really mattered. He’d been seen.</p><p>Hooray.</p><p>
  <em>Fucking wonderful.</em>
</p><p>Winry said she called Al and they knew he was here. If he had to guess, Edward would say they’d shoot him on sight under the assumption that he was Envy or some alchemic abomination. Which, like, technically wasn’t false.</p><p>No matter, the likelihood of getting an unhealthy dose of metal between his eyes was frighteningly high.</p><p>His foot had jammed while he was running—the cords hitching, sticking in place—and he didn’t have the luxury of trying to fix it. Edward crammed the prosthetic between two heavy rocks and leaned backwards until it snapped off.</p><p>He made a stiff replacement that left him unbalanced.</p><p>So here he sat, burning the last letters he had meant to send to Noah. The ones he had coded to hell and back to ensure no one but the two of them would be able to read them.</p><p>He was ridding himself of the evidence that she was real because carrying those letters around was like lugging an anvil on his back. It was incredibly selfish.</p><p>Still the words would echo.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>They were withering away now.</p><p>It was his art, so to speak.</p><p>Edward smiled to himself, throwing another page onto the pyre.</p><p>He started to laugh. Surprisingly, it wasn’t weighed down with anguish. There were no underpinnings of mania. He just laughed.</p><p>“Burning my art for warmth.” He sighed, gazing at the pit of glowing stones and kindling. “Eat your heart out, La Bohème.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well... there it is.<br/>That's what happened. </p><p> </p><p>And yes I'm of course referencing century old musicals. Who do you think I am? I hope this wasn't too upsetting or an unsatisfactory reveal! I am both thrilled and terrified to see how y'all react to this chap so! I will now pass out.<br/>(Yes I did a whole lot of research though of course it's not 100% accurate, I did do my best to keep it in line with reality.)<br/>Also! We've received some stunning <a href="https://imgur.com/z1UJlTj">art</a>!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Luksóng Báka</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Non-graphic depiction of injury.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Winry had started glowing the moment Mustang handed her the chunk of ceramic. Al eyed her in a mix of amusement and exasperation as she rushed around the house, digging out blueprints and tools, babbling away at the speed of light with no sign of stopping.</p><p>They all just watched her go, confused and awestruck. She was like a tornado, blustering through and grinning like a lunatic.</p><p>“And the mechanisms all have slightly difference functions. Oh! That’s why his arm felt funny! It was probably covered with silicon or something to keep the exterior from—“ Al loudly cleared his throat and she blinked.</p><p>“Mind speaking in a language the rest of us understand?” He raised an eyebrow while she tucked her hair back, shaking her head sheepishly.</p><p>“Right, right. Forgot that you’re all out of your element.” She motioned them to a table where she’d laid out an old blueprint. A prototype for a customer back in Rush Valley that she probably discarded for some tiny, insignificant reason. Al knew she was a perfectionist, but at times it was ridiculous.</p><p>She pointed between the paper and the pale prothetic. “See, this looks like all the right components for an ankle, but it’s not mechanical. It’s analogue, I think. More of a pulley system or maybe a wind-up rather than machine.”</p><p>“So we know that he’s missing two limbs.” Mustang pulled something from his pocket. “And we found this at an abandoned fire pit.”</p><p>He turned to the brothers, both leaning over the table to understand what Winry had said. Al squinted at the paper. “What is it?”</p><p>“Notes, I think. They’re coded.”</p><p>A soft groan came from every non-alchemist. Winry turned on her heel and walked right out of the room, muttering something about <em>coffee</em> and <em>knives</em>.</p><p>“Am I the only one getting sick of this guy running circles around us?” Havoc asked aloud.</p><p>Al saw Hawkeye’s shoulders slump by an inch, looking uncharacteristically unsure. Maybe a little defeated, if his eyes could be trusted. “I’d say yes, but I think just plain <em>running</em> would be more accurate.”</p><p>She followed after Winry and was redirected to the spare room. Al heard a soft thump and mentally saluted the woman; she’d been dead on her feet.</p><p>
  <em>Godspeed, Lieutenant.</em>
</p><p>From the way Hawkeye and Winry had been acting, AL suspected their thoughts on the doppelgänger was different from everyone else’s. They’d ruled out the homunculus angle, yes, but that wasn’t stopping them from being wary and cautious.</p><p>Those two, however… they seemed almost upset.</p><p>Ed shrugged and strode over to Mustang, taking the singed paper and looking it over critically. He paled after a moment, eyes going wide and his brow creasing.</p><p>“What is it?” Al rushed over to peer over the older’s shoulder.</p><p>“This...” Ed blinked owlishly. “This is <em>my</em> code.”</p><p>“<em>Your code</em>?” Mustang repeated. Everyone looked lost and, frankly, Al was no better. He knew exactly how personal an alchemist’s notes are. His own were buried in a layer of metaphor and ciphers, and he knew full well how hard Ed’s were to crack.<br/><br/>He’d tried before and only pushed his way through a few pages before he chucked the notes at his brother, demanding he explain them instead of being a cryptic jerk.</p><p>So how the hell did this person know—</p><p>“Look here. Something’s different.” Ed pointed to a few words scrawled on the page. “These aren’t... what language is that?”</p><p>Havoc and Breda crowded around, carelessly snatching the paper away. “That looks like Drachman writing.” Breda traced the words.</p><p>“Do you know what is says?”</p><p>“I haven’t the faintest clue.” Breda replied with a shrug.</p><p>Al sighed, pushing his hair back from his forehead and trading knowing glances with Ed. They were suspecting the same thing now. String theory and alters... too much was adding up and it made him antsy.</p><p>“I’ll run back to the library for a Drachman dictionary. Can you get them up to speed?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.”</p><p>A half hour later, Al came sprinting back up the pathway to the Rockbell household, three small books tucked under his arm and a jigsaw puzzle of a person on his mind.</p><p>This… this <em>other</em> Ed was so baffling to him. In every way, it was strange. Unsettling and even scary. Absolutely, it frightened him, but it was also just plain old weird.</p><p>Al had his fill of oddities <em>thank you very much</em> and a doppelgänger who might very well be a version of his own brother…</p><p>Al shook his head and shouldered open the door.</p><p>From the looks of it, Ed had been kind in his explanations, choosing to steal some graph paper from Winry’s work bench and drawing out a rough example of their findings to do with string theory.</p><p>He had that determined gleam to his eyes and the devilish smirk was pitched to the nines with a side of fries. Ed was excited. Al wasn’t the only one who saw it.</p><p>“Could you at least <em>pretend</em> to not be happy about this.” Mustang glared down with a scowl that screamed out <em>dear god someone buy this kid some sanity</em>.</p><p>Good luck with that one, Colonel.</p><p>Al padded inside and kicked the lock shut with his foot because of course he did. It was a skill he’d picked up from Ed and refused to let anyone, including himself forget it.</p><p>It earned a small smile from Winry and a mildly impressed smirk from Havoc and Breda. His brother glared right back at Mustang.</p><p>“Can you shut up for two seconds? This is objectively amazing.” Ed threw snark like a fastball, knocking the older upside the head. “It would mean the existence of multiple worlds! Crotchety old fuck…”</p><p>“I swear you haven’t matured at all.”</p><p>“I’ll take that as a compliment, <em>Colonel</em>.” Ed flashed a smug smile.</p><p>“<em>Brigadier</em>. <em>General</em>.”</p><p>“Still don’t care.”</p><p>Havoc choked at that and Al promptly stepped between the two. “Dictionaries.” He declared, handing one to Mustang and the other to Ed. “Circle the words we need to translate and <em>be careful</em> about the verb-tenses and conjugation cause that could mess up the whole code.”</p><p>“Aye aye, cap.” Ed wrote out the words along his diagram, splaying the overlarge paper on the floor so the table wouldn’t be overrun. There were ten in total, varying in length and some containing letters and accents that were out of the ordinary.</p><p>They cracked down in pairs of two, Winry and Al chipping away at the bottom, Breda and Ed working on the middling words and Mustang sprawled with Havoc for the first few.</p><p>It was tedious and slow but somehow exhilarating. Almost an hour passed before they properly translated the first word, the hit going to Ed and Breda.</p><p>They had to take into consideration the syllabic stresses and context of the word within the decoded notes. Ed reported they seemed like off-kilter physics, dipping into territories like the atmospheric pressureand alternate fuel sources all in relation to <em>something</em>. It felt like it had been pulled from a fairytale.</p><p>It didn’t mention what that <em>something</em> was, but Al’s curiosity climbed higher and higher.</p><p>“It means time.” Breda ambled over to their obnoxiously big diagram and wrote the word <em>time</em> underneath <em>zeit</em>.</p><p>Twenty minutes later Mustang put <em>elementary</em> below <em>grundlegend</em>.</p><p>They hardly made sense. When put into the sentence they were pulled from, it flowed naturally and not a syllable seemed to hitch. But <em>why</em> had they been written in another language? They seemed to be random words!</p><p>Satisfaction better bring Al back after all this because his curiosity was driving him into the ground. Nights without sleep and he didn’t even feel tired because the mystery of it all was latching on and dragging him down into an endless rabbit hole.</p><p>He and Winry solved two in a row. <em>Reconstruction</em> and <em>universe</em> derived from <em>rekonstruieren</em> and <em>universum</em>. They’d been close enough to the original words that double and triple checking wasn’t necessary.</p><p>“What the shit…” Ed said softly, looking at the spreadsheet he and Breda cobbled together. He said it in the same tone you might greet an old friend or speak to an excited animal and it threw Al for one hell of a loop.</p><p>“What is it?” Al lifted his head but didn’t bother getting up. He was far too comfortable using Winry’s shoulder as a headrest while he read.</p><p>“Duplicitous.” The older’s brow furrowed and Breda’s head was cradled in his hands. “This word means duplicitous.”</p><p>“Great.” Al drawled, hand running down his face. “Awesome. <em>Excellent</em>. Can we please toss the implications of that out the window?”</p><p>“Afraid not.” Mustang scribbled out <em>insulate</em> beside <em>isolieren</em>. “We just have to assume these words are all important and… and if a doppelgänger is talking about <em>duplicity</em>, taking it at face value isn’t an option.”</p><p>Ed sighed and Havoc refilled everyone’s coffees and teas. A true gentleman, really. Shame he couldn’t keep a partner to save his life.</p><p>They were down to one word in an hour and it was getting late.</p><p><em>Neutralize</em> fit itself neatly below its counterpart and Al was a bit miffed it had taken so long. <em>Neutralisieren</em> wasn’t that different, after all. <em>Gleichung</em> translated into <em>equation</em> just in time for Havoc to call it quits and pass out on the sofa.<br/><br/>Breda was a bit more graceful, managing to slog over to the spare room before swan diving into dreamland. Winry punched her card after figuring out that <em>eins</em> meant <em>one</em>.</p><p>It left a single  word that, for the life of him, Al couldn’t place.</p><p><em>Nuklear</em>.</p><p>There was nothing. He checked through all three version of their dictionaries and the nearest thing he could find was some variation of the word power, but the translation was off by a few proverbial feet.</p><p>Al came up empty handed no matter what tense he tried and it felt like the vowels were spitting on him.</p><p>Ed crashed before Al had a chance to ask him for help and he didn’t <em>dare</em> wake the older. They’d both been up for hours and he knew for fact Ed hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the train ride into Resembool. He draped a blanket over his brother with an almost fond sigh.</p><p>That left Al and Mustang to glower at the pages and throw internal tantrums because, by all accounts, this word doesn’t exist. Not in Amestrian or Drachman and <em>certainly</em> not in alchemy.</p><p>“New clear is the closest I can get but… but it’s <em>one word</em>.”</p><p>“Could it be a term from a field none of us are familiar with?”</p><p>“Physics, maybe? But we just spent most of the day going through theoretical texts on that. If this word was from there, we would’ve seen it.”</p><p>Mustang carefully placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take a break. Agonizing over it isn’t going to help.”</p><p>“No. I want to know what this means.”</p><p>The man sighed. “Alphonse,”</p><p>“I’m close!” He insisted. Mustang looked like he was about to protest further, but something <em>clicked</em> in Al’s mind.</p><p>“One word.” He repeated. Then he turned to the dark haired man. “It’s one word!” Al exclaimed. Mustang leaned back looking lost and a touch concerned.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>Al leaped up and hurried to the graph. “I’m an idiot. It’s <em>nu-clear</em>! I don’t know what the hell it means but it’s one word!” His excited ramblings startled Ed awake from where he’d dozed. Havoc blinked at them before rolling back over with a grumble.</p><p>“You got it?” Ed asked drowsily.</p><p>“Yes! I don’t know what it actually means, but yes!”</p><p>Ed flashed a tired smile and pulled himself upright to look at the new findings. The bright look faded away as focus seeped back into him, stealing away the daze of sleep. “Yeah, uh, never heard of it before.”</p><p>“Me neither!” Al was absolutely thrilled and didn’t very much care that both his brother and Mustang were giving him looks like he’d turned blue.</p><p>They exchanged confused glances, Ed shrugging to the older’s pointed frown. At some point they’d adopted a silent way of speech and Al could almost hear the word <em>crazy</em> in the air, traded mutely between the two, but it didn’t matter because <em>damnit</em> he cracked the last word.</p><p>“Al, I’m glad you got it but… maybe you should take a nap, yeah?” Ed tugged his arm, moving to the hallway were Pinako’s bed was waiting for him to face-plant into. Al relented, still grinning.</p><p>“Yeah, alright.”</p><p>And he <em>would’ve</em>. He really would’ve gone to sleep had Hawkeye not stepped into the room, looking rested up and tidy. She waved to him. “How’d it go?”</p><p>“Just finished.” Al beamed at her while Ed started to simply drag him away, muttering about stubborn brothers. Which was really rich coming from <em>Ed</em>, of all people. He was just about to let himself get hauled away when Hawkeye squinted down at their oversized sheet of paper like she could see something the rest of them couldn’t.</p><p>“Lieutenant?” Mustang raise an eyebrow at her. She brought a hand to her chin, eyes flickering rapidly between the writing. Ed stopped pulling, his grip going slack and he followed Al’s line of sight.</p><p>“Insulate, neutralize, elementary, equation,” She went word by word, reading them in the order they’d appeared in the notes, “duplicitous, time, one, reconstruct, universe and nu-clear.”</p><p>Hawkeye meet Al’s eyes for confirmation that those were all correct. He nodded hesitantly. The blonde woman turned, her nose wrinkling slightly. Concentration overtook her features.</p><p>“I…N…E…” She started slowly. Ed tensed and scrambled for a pen. Hawkeye knelt, touching the first letter of each translated word and speaking aloud while Ed copied them down. The commotion fully roused Havoc. Breda came peaking around the corner soon enough while the Colonel crouched beside his subordinate with wide eyes as she finished skimming their work.</p><p><br/>“What,” The older brother was gapping at the page, “the <em>fuck</em>.”</p><p>His pen dropped to the ground as Al hurried to Ed’s side to study what had come of the hidden letters.</p><p>Al’s jaw hit the ground in time with everyone else in the room. They crowded and became very still, simply staring at the words: I N-E-E-D T-O R-U-N</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The woods spat him out along the main road. Edward felt ready to transmute a hole and resign itself to a long dirt nap. He was sore and the bullet wound had been flaring violently ever since he saw Winry, working in time with pangs of guilt and good old fashion heartache.</p><p>He couldn’t decided which one hurt worse.</p><p>He limped down the road, hoping that someone would putter along in a wagon or a car so he could flatter his way into a seat and get out of Resembool before it all flipped on its head.</p><p>Edward’s hand was glued to his side, still cringing at the sensation of a shattered rib welded in place by scar tissue. He thought he would grow used to the feeling of shards creating hills and valleys across the wound, but no, it was still unsettling and sickly.</p><p>It was also feeling rather <em>fresh</em> and shooting brief, agonizing ricochets across his chest. Edward did his best to keep moving, tunnel vision kicking into high gear and reminding him that staying still would probably result in another projectile knocking him off his feet.</p><p>He remembered what Winry had said, back when he’d stupidly paused at the mouth of the forest.</p><p>
  <em>Just stay for a little. We only want to talk.</em>
</p><p>He wanted to believe her so badly. He really did.</p><p>But <em>my</em>, what a gamble it would be. Like betting his very heart on the green of a roulette wheel.</p><p>He wanted to believe what she said so desperately that it made his ears ring, but he couldn’t. One too many times had his faith been throttled by the hands of reality; one too many times had hope leaped into an open grave.</p><p>Edward refused to torture himself with the possibility that she was being genuine. It wouldn’t do him any good.</p><p>His vision dimmed and he blinked violently with a heavy breath. Edward wished to just rest for a little bit and try to solve the problem that expressly <em>his</em> without needing to glance up at a guillotine every two minutes, fearing it would come falling down.</p><p>Both proverbially and literally, his head was firmly settled on the chopping block.</p><p>Because he’d been seen and it didn’t matter that it was Winry or that he felt his heart swell at the thought of her and—and <em>Al</em> simply existing.</p><p>“Young man!” A voice called to him and Edward’s eyes shot up from the ground. He found himself looking up a low hill where two silhouettes stood hand in hand, rapidly approaching.</p><p>He caught a flash of a blue rose and his chest constricted, the path torn by the bullet burning white hot and he couldn’t hold back the startled, pained gasp.</p><p>Guilt boiled up and made his head buzz like it was filled with wasps.</p><p>
  <em>You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.</em>
</p><p>This is a joke. A twisted and cruel joke that would end with his resolve melted at his feet. It was tasteless and he wanted a refund.</p><p>It was Majhal and Karin, arms linked together and wedding bands snugly fit onto their fingers. It had been years and years ago, but the terror and crushing regret didn’t have the grace to fade. Edward desperately tried to rationalize it at the couple hurried over, looking concerned.</p><p>He felt light headed and hot.</p><p>This was a man he’d killed. It was self defence; it was indirected; it was to save a young girl and protect Al; it was an <em>accident</em>. But the weight dropped down hard regardless and reminded him of Karin’s wailing while the crazed alchemist had bled out.</p><p>And he <em>had</em> been crazed, he was ready to hurt and mangle innocents for selfish reasons. But Edward had put a blade through his stomach and now he was pretty sure the remorse had managed to reopen the old wound it had left.</p><p>Also, he was bleeding.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Karin was trailing just a bit ahead, only a few dozen yards away. “Young man? You look ill.” They approached and Edward felt blood soaking through his shirt slowly, the warmth making him feel dizzy.</p><p>“Oh my you’re—!”</p><p>Edward bolted off the road into the tall grass. It stretched up to his shoulders, bright yellow and sweet-smelling. They called after him.</p><p>Edward heard the hiss of dried grass beneath his feet as he rushed onwards, ducking in the hopes that they’d lose sight of him. Footsteps skittered to a halt and their voices came in hushed cries.</p><p>“You saw it too, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Of course I saw. Where’d he go?” There was a pause and more hesitant steps, the sound of arms pushing the grass back and cloth shuffling from afar. The concern that had been worn upon their faces and woven into their words had Edward squeezing his eyes shut. The memory committed itself to permanence and he cursed every synapsis in his stupid head. “We’re not going to hurt you!”</p><p>He stayed low, crouched and creeping onwards, away from the couple.</p><p>They’d been married here. They’d been married here and he’d <em>killed</em> one of them back in his own world.</p><p>He considered using alchemy, but that would give away where he is. The bright light and cacophony of energy could be heard easily and recognized even by common folk. He was used to hiding at this point, though.</p><p>Eventually they left, muttering just low enough that Edward couldn’t catch what they were saying, but he could take an educated guess and presume they’d contact local authorities.</p><p>Three cheers for good luck.</p><p>His fuse was burning dangerously short and had it not been for a now substantial amount of blood loss, he probably would’ve alchemized an explosion right then and there just as an outlet for everything.</p><p>His head was too far up into the clouds to give it more than a passing consideration and a sour chuckle.</p><p>Edward found a tree to lean against and tried to get his breathing under control, legs tucked up close to his chest.</p><p>Would the same wound kill him a second time? Wouldn’t that be pathetic.</p><p>The blond sighed and let his head tip back, thumping mutely against the trunk.</p><p>
  <em>I need to run.</em>
</p><p>Yeah, well. Ruined foot and a hole through his middle was probably going to make that a little hard.</p><p>He slumped back and shut his eyes, inhaling the blessedly clean air. He still hadn’t gotten used to that.</p><p>Edward looked out over the field. Bright, hazy gold, all of it. Spread out against the morning breeze and huddled around him right up to the base of the tree. Edward’s hand subconsciously tugged at his own hair, raking through it and wondering if, once, it would’ve been the same colour. Before smoke and dirt and dyed it shades darker.</p><p>Gold on gold. It could’ve been nice.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When they wanted to, Ed and Winry could make a rather impressive team.</p><p>Al had been insisting that he go along with them on their search, claiming that the nights without sleep hadn’t bothered him. It was a weak lie to begin with, but oh how it <em>crumbled</em>.</p><p>Ed and Winry gave him a spectacularly harmonized glare and the younger wilted. “On second thought, I’ll go take a nap.”</p><p>“Good.” The two chorused. Roy almost laughed at the exchange, the roles each of them usual played being flipped artfully into a comedy routine.</p><p>Ed crossed his arms, huffing. “And people say <em>I’m</em> reckless…”</p><p>Breda requested to stay behind while Havoc carried a radio unit. It could keep communications open with East City if need be, and his subordinate would be able to contact local MPs in a worst case scenario.</p><p>They traded empty barrels for bullets and bare hands for gloves. Winry put a hammer in her back pocket and tossed out a look of annoyance when they frowned at her</p><p>It was tedious, but they figured with one foot and a night or two sleeping on withered flowerbeds, the double wouldn’t be able to get far.</p><p>Combing the woods took the morning. They resigned themselves to going door to door.</p><p>It felt... silly? Stupid? Ridiculous? Yes, all of those things.</p><p>But was also nerve wracking because every time they knocked, Roy desperately hoped that the homeowner would say yes.</p><p><em>Yes</em>, we did see a kid with blond hair and a limp. <em>Yes</em>, we know where he went. <em>Yes</em>, you are entitled to the crippling and overwhelming panic that has been sewn directly into your skin since the moment Hawkeye first mentioned seeing Ed in East City when he<em> wasn’t really there</em> and the you were <em>right</em> to be afraid and overprotective and—</p><p>The other part of him was relieved each time they said no.</p><p>Because that’s what everyone had said so far. <em>No</em>, we have no idea what you’re on about.</p><p>Roy couldn’t even pinpoint why it felt like he could breathe easier each time someone offered up a handful of nothingness and useless information, but it did. He was starting to resent the feeling.</p><p>When someone finally said yes, his mind was send into overdrive and his words conveniently walked off a plank into oblivion. They marched off one by one, leaving him blinking at an elderly couple with worried expressions.</p><p>Hawkeye jumped in before the silence stretched into discomfort, Havoc’s hand on his shoulder pulling him back by a step.</p><p>“You alright?” The blond asked.</p><p>“Fine.” He breathed back.</p><p>Hawkeye shot him a glance before painting on a friendly smile.</p><p>“We saw a young man down the road a little ways earlier.” The woman told them. She stepped aside when her husband leaned forward. He looked anxious, pulling at his long hair with fidgeting hands.</p><p>“He was bleeding, I think. We tried to help but... but he ran off.” The man’s face fell.</p><p>Roy managed to get a handle on his tongue and swallowed back trepidation by the gallon. “Can you show us where you saw him?”</p><p>“Y-yes! Of course, Karin could you grab our jackets?”</p><p>Moments later the couple were leading them down a dirt road, walking faster than Roy had expected.</p><p>He wondered if they were normally like this or if they were just concerned for what they presumed was a hurt kid.</p><p>Roy couldn’t decide if what he felt towards the two was admiration or pity. A mix, perhaps.</p><p>It was noble of them to be concerned; it was kind to want to help. But they don’t know <em>what</em> this person is. Though in all fairness, he doesn’t know either. They’ve got a wall of ideas wadded into spitballs and a few solid leads, but noting could be confirmed. Not until they actually found him.</p><p>Roy notice the man—Majhal—sending wary looks at the group from over his shoulder, steps slowing. He caught sight of the navy blues hidden under their coats and chewed at his lip.</p><p>“Pardon me but,” He started carefully, “that boy isn’t in trouble, is he?”</p><p>Roy exchanged a glance with Hawkeye. Majhal’s footsteps puttered to a crawl, giving them a stern look that could only be crafted with time. “He was hurt. Now I don’t care if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, I know I saw blood and if you lot are out to arrest him—“</p><p>“It’s nothing like that.” Winry cut in, a soft smile gracing her face and serving up kindness on a platter. “He’s a friend that’s been missing for a while. We just want to make sure he’s safe.”<br/><br/>There wasn’t an ounce of dishonesty in her tone. Roy could tell when people were lying; he could pick apart inflections and twitches because he would’ve been eaten alive by the senior staff otherwise. But every word she spoke was like it’s own private vow.</p><p>Karin and Majhal both seemed to relax, allowing their pace to be ironed into a smooth walk. Roy shot a look to Winry. She refused to meet his eyes, looking straight ahead to where the sky and the hills wrestled for space.</p><p>“Don’t take it personally. She’s just stubborn.” Ed told him, low enough that it wouldn’t be overheard. There was still a note of teasing buried in the words. "And probably worried."</p><p>He hummed back. Ed eyed him carefully, but kept his mouth shut.</p><p>They were directed to a field of tall, honey-yellow grass. “We lost sight of him here. About two hours ago, I believe.”</p><p>Roy smiled at the couple politely. “Thank you for the help.”</p><p>They offered up a hesitant nod and retreated towards their home. Roy waited until they’d vanished over the peak of a small hill before rounding on his mismatched team.</p><p>“He probably already moved on by now, so keep an eye out for a trail.”</p><p>“Sir.” Hawkeye and Havoc chorused in concert with Ed’s cavalier salut. Winry avoided looking at Roy entirely.</p><p>They went about it quietly, forming a line and moving through the field, the tips of the grass reaching up to his arms and swallowing both Ed and Winry almost to their shoulders. They spread themselves out, but stayed within earshot.</p><p>Roy winced at the airy hiss of the grass beneath his feet, eyes still scanning and searching for something to latch on too.</p><p>Then he just… <em>saw him.</em></p><p>In broad daylight. Sitting curled underneath a drooping tree, knees drawn up and his face buried in a battered notebook, the gold of his hair woven almost seamlessly into the grass. It was such a terribly serene vignette and the kid before him looked about as dangerous as a stray cat.</p><p>He could smell blood in the air.</p><p>It hit Roy fast and hard, with it coming the realization that Winry was <em>right</em>. This wasn’t Envy. This wasn’t a homunculus or puppet at all.</p><p>Even when homunculi do bleed, it’s not normal. He knows the smell and it’s nothing like human blood.</p><p><br/>It reeks of oil and sulfur. This was pitched to crimson and soaked in iron</p><p>Roy stopped in his tracks. A million thoughts raced through him all at once, each an every one a different option for how to proceed. His foot shifted by an inch and it must’ve made a sound because the double… <em>Ed</em>, stiffened in a wash of cold terror.</p><p>His eyes shot up to meet Roy’s, a familiar expression stricken over his face.</p><p>It was the same look that Ed had worn when they’d first met. When he had stormed into the Rockbell’s home and found a child in a wheelchair. His eyes were tired and broken and unequivocally pissed. Fiery and blazing with exhaustion.</p><p>Realization flashed and it was like looking in a mirror. You don’t get eyes like that from just anywhere and he could feel the haunted aura huddled around the younger. It shook Roy to his core.</p><p>
  <em>That’s not Ed.</em>
</p><p>The kid’s eyes widened. <em>Kid</em>… Double? Doppelgänger? The hell was he supposed to call this guy? <em>Fullmetal</em>? Whoever he was, he looked <em>tired</em>, uncomfortably pale save for the feverish flush to his cheeks and Roy still hadn’t moved. The book dropped to the ground.</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>His gaze darted to Roy’s hand and he didn’t even realize he’s been poised to snap. Roy didn’t drop his arm though, instead forcing his expression to harden in the hopes of intimidating some answers out into the open.</p><p>“You’ve got some explaining to do.”</p><p>“Sure, <em>whatever</em>. Just put your hand down.” It was startling how forceful Fullmetal sounded, considering that he looked to be on the brink of fainting. He seemed nervous, which was to be expected.<br/><br/>But <em>scared</em> wasn’t something Roy had been anticipating.</p><p>He held up his hands, palms flat in a compromised surrender, signalling to Hawkeye. Fullmetal just seemed resigned. He didn’t try to stand, though that might’ve been from the fact that his prothetic was missing up to the ankle, jagged and dirty.</p><p>They drew closer and he bit back a wince. “You shouldn’t even <em>be</em> here.”</p><p>“Neither should you.” Roy responded, dangerously calm.</p><p>“Yeah.” He glanced to the firearm hanging from Roy’s belt. “I know what you’re probably thinking and I <em>swear</em>—”</p><p>“You’re from another world, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He couldn’t run. He’d already been practically surrounded. By familiar faces, no less. Hawkeye and Havoc stood off to the left. Hawkeye looked worried. Havoc looked worried. Winry looked worried. Mustang didn’t move an inch.</p><p>And he was there, frozen in place on the far right.</p><p>Himself. <em>Ed.</em></p><p>Eyes wide and two real arms hanging at his sides.</p><p>He felt a hot rush and feeling was leeched from his hand. Edward felt numb, sick and like he’d been shot all over again.</p><p>Maybe he had.</p><p>The blood rapidly spilling from between his fingers was a good enough indicator.</p><p>Edward breathed and his sanity fell to the wayside.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They were scattered in a half circle around the tree.</p><p>Fullmetal blinked at Ed. His gaze swept through them all with clear recognition before he barked out a laugh. “<em>Goddamn</em>. Congrats, you figured it out. Kindly take your hand away from the guns cause I’m really not in the mood.”</p><p>In his peripheral vision, Roy saw Hawkeye’s hand fall away from where it had been hovering near her holster. She probably didn’t even realized she’d been doing it. Havoc reached for the radio unit, but Roy held up a hand to stop him.</p><p>What should he say? Demand proof or threaten him?</p><p>No, that might send everyone into a frenzy. He can’t very well just start up a casual conversation, especially not with this guy being such a massive flight risk and he could still taste blood in the air.</p><p>
  <em>Blood.</em>
</p><p>His eyes trailed to where Fullmetal was pressing a hand against his side and suddenly the words of Majhal came back to him like a slap upside the head.</p><p>
  <em>He was hurt. I know I saw blood.</em>
</p><p>As promised, there was a whole lot of red hidden in the folds of the blond’s jacket. An alarming amount that seemed to absolutely <em>pour</em> when Roy took a step forward.</p><p>Fullmetal shrunk back by a fraction, twinges of anxiety and anger pulling at his face. He looked older than he should.</p><p>All eyes were darting to Roy, waiting for the first move. Even Ed was looking to him from afar. The only one who wasn’t was Winry.</p><p>Her face hardened with determination and she sent a harsh glare to the three officers. “What’s <em>wrong</em> with all of you?” Before anyone could stop her, she marched forward. Fullmetal grimaced and managed to push himself up, hand planted firmly on the trunk of the tree.</p><p>“I—<em>fuck</em>.” There was blood soaked into the dirt and it worsened with each stride she took. “I appreciate it but <em>seriously</em> you’re going to make it worse.”</p><p>“Well you’re going to bleed to death.” She shot back</p><p>“And I’ll do it a lot faster if you don’t <em>listen</em>.” The bite in his voice was marred by a soft pleading and Winry slowed.</p><p>She looked startled at that, face pitching into one of nervousness. Fullmetal’s frame curled, a breath pulled from his throat so heavy it was tiring to hear. He grew paler by the second. “Go. <em>Please</em>.”</p><p>It was as though a match had been struck in the dark.</p><p>Roy could see. He should see the too loose jacket and faint scars draw haphazardly across his cheek and jaw; the shaking, half bent stance; he saw dulled, lustreless gold eyes that remained aflame, even as a chill dumped over the air and there was nothing but panic and a cocktail of horribly desperate pleading.</p><p>His eyes were blown wide open and Roy could <em>see</em>.</p><p>“Why would you—“ He hit the ground before Winry could finish the question.</p><p>The rest of the jumped into action all at once.</p><p>Roy spun to Ed and Hawkeye. “Find a vehicle. Commandeer one of you have to, just go!” They were running as the words left his mouth. He whirled too Havoc. “You’re versed in first aid, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Right!” He sprinted over the where Winry was already kneeling, hands prying at the jacket practically glued down with gore.</p><p>Roy stayed a good few paces away, knowing full well he’d only be in the way and admittedly, he felt a looping, continuous jolt of dread holding the hairs at his neck on their toes and leaving goosebumps beneath his sleeves. He was uneasy and desperately wishing this was a problem he could snap his fingers at and trot back to East City feeling satisfied.</p><p>But no.</p><p>They’d been graced with the presence of some alternative version of Edward Elric who already seemed to know them.</p><p>He was half dead, he had watched Roy as though he expected to be set on fire.</p><p>And was also bleeding by the pint. Winry and Havoc had both entered a stern, clinic type of mania, trading words in clipped tones and muttered about how <em>it isn’t slowing down</em>.</p><p>Ed and Hawkeye showed up with a run down car ten minutes later and Roy caught glimpses of Fullmetal as they loaded him into the back. For a moment, he thought the kid was already a corpse.</p><p>“Back to my house! We have medical equipment there.”</p><p>“What about a hospital?” Havoc asked. He had both hands locked into place over a bloom of dark crimson, arms shaking from exertion. The kid’s face was hidden and there were marks crudely strung over his throat.</p><p>“Do <em>you</em> want to try explaining this to a hospital?” Winry cried.</p><p>“But we barely know what we’re doing!”</p><p>“The closest one is two hours away.”</p><p>The man winced and relented. “Back to your house.”</p><p>Like a fever dream, the scene swam before him. Hawkeye jumped into the back and took Havoc’s place while Roy and Ed filed into the front seats. He took off with exactly zero regard for traffic laws and exchanged unsure looks with the younger sitting beside him. Ed’s hands were curling at the hem of his shirt and shooting glances over his shoulder every few seconds.</p><p>“On three.” Hawkeye’s voice came sternly. Roy couldn’t spare the time to look back, whipping around a corner and leaving burnt rubber in his wake, but Ed could.</p><p>He seemed alarmed, fully turning around to watch the events unfold. “Won’t that make it bleed faster?!”</p><p>“We don’t even know where it’s coming from!” Winry shouted back.</p><p>“One… two…” There came the heavy tearing of fabric. It was a bubbling, blood dampened <em>rip</em> that made him shudder. It didn’t take much for Roy to guess what they were doing.</p><p>“I have my gloves,” He said, “tell me if we need to pull over.”</p><p>The backseat was silent. Ed was staring down, shock written over his face, open and un-policed. The older looked between him and the road, trying the gauge if he could catch a peak over his shoulder without crashing the vehicle. With the way the path was twisting in on itself, serpentine and erratic, Roy didn’t want to test fate. The review mirror only showed him the profiles of the two women and invited dread to start up a symphony in his head</p><p>“Bullet wound.” Hawkeye breathed. She’d seen plenty before, why did this one make her voice sound so strained?</p><p>
  <em>(It’s Ed. It’s fucking Ed of course she’s scared.)</em>
</p><p>Roy gripped the wheel in frustration. “Lieutenant.” He urged. Ed slowly turned to face the front again, eyes wide and lips pressed into a hard line.</p><p>“It’s an exit wound.” Hawkeye said.</p><p>“Where’s the—“</p><p>“I’ll find it.” He heard the shifting of fabric and watched her reflection become increasingly urgent. Roy looked to Ed and lowered his voice to a mutter.</p><p>“How bad?”</p><p>“I don’t—<em>hell</em>, it’s bad. I can’t see very well, but it must’ve gone right through his chest.” The same question hung in the air, unspoken but bouncing between each of them: <em>how is this guy still alive?</em></p><p>The road levelled and Roy decided to risk a collision to see what was going on just beyond eyeshot.</p><p>It was a mess.</p><p>The backseat would be stained forever and Roy knew bleach wouldn’t be able to erase the memory from his mind. Hawkeye’s hand disappearing into Fullmetal’s collar, feeling for an entrance wound while Winry and Havoc bunched up the older man’s coat and pressed the heels of their hands down onto Fullmetal’s side. Somehow, through some bizarre and nonsensical twist, Fullmetal had been right. It only seemed to be getting worse and Roy could see the three impromptu medics toeing the line between frantic and full blown panic. Hawkeye seemed to be the only one with a grip, still working feverishly but her face stern as ever.</p><p>From the corner of his eye, he saw Ed reach over and grasp the wheel, giving Roy the leeway he needed to survey and compartmentalize.</p><p>“General,” Hawkeye met his eyes, “you know about burns.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>She tugged on the kid’s collar, pulling it aside to reveal his left shoulder blade. The sight made him pause.</p><p>It was a thin stretch of skin pulled over bone, all of it twisted grotesquely in a way that could only be done with fire. The scars run below the fabric of his shirt and curled up the back of his neck.</p><p>“That’s…” Roy’s eyes narrowed. “That’s from an explosion. A bomb or—“ He cut himself off, staring down at his gloved hands. A terrible thought came to mind and Roy suddenly forgot that <em>this</em> Edward wasn’t the one he knew and sharply moved back to the wheel. His expression became severe and he floored the gas.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It all stopped as quickly as it had started and Ed was sure he got some form of whiplash in the transition. From confusion and fear to <em>more</em> confusion and a cacophony of relieved sighs.</p><p>He stayed out of the room the other version of him—what the hell. <em>What the hell</em>—had been left in and fixed Hawkeye with a look.</p><p>Her jaw was locked shut.</p><p>Winry’d run off to the kitchen to wash her hands and Al, roused from sleep by the commotion, had gone with her. Ed <em>knows</em> he saw her start to cry, her exhales coming in panicked heaves and Al’s comforting voice washing over Winry softly, but to no avail. He heard a metallic sound from the kitchen and could safely assume she’d punched something. Anger, frustration, fear or maybe just helplessness. Ed could hardly blame her after… <em>that</em>.</p><p>Havoc’s arms shook from exhaustion and shock. It left Ed faced with an equally baffled Mustang and the troubled frown of his Lieutenant.</p><p>“It’s not normal.” She said, chewing his lip in an uncharacteristically nervous way.</p><p>Ed scoffed. “Is anything about him <em>normal</em>?”</p><p>Mustang elbowed him and gestured for the blond woman to continue. She carefully tucked her hair behind her ear and Ed felt a candle wick scrapping against his spine as though it were flint, ready to spark and light up his body with impatience. “It seems healed. Partially, at least. I’d guess it’s a month or so old.”</p><p>“So why did,” Ed gave a quick wave to the guest room, “<em>that</em> happen?”</p><p>“I don’t know. But you all…” Hawkeye looked to them, alarmed and uncertain. “You saw it, right? How he—“</p><p>“Like he knew it was coming.” Mustang finished. Ed nodded and took another hard swing at the unsettlement of seeing himself look like the human equivalent of a beaten and bloodied stray. It took the blow with ease and remind firmly in place</p><p>He scowled at the floor.</p><p>A mystery wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a middle finger flipped right between his eyes. Ed ran a hand down his face. Al came puttering back into the room, a hand on Winry’s shoulder. She looked pale and was still swiping the back of her hand over her cheeks, her breathing choked and damp.</p><p>Ed could practically feel the look exchanged between the officers, even with his back turned to offer up an assuring smile to his brother.</p><p>“Someone needs to keep an eye on him.” Mustang said. The younger spun on his heel to find Hawkeye already readying herself to be served up like a sacrifice, hand raised and expression simply resigned.</p><p>“Dibs.” Ed called just as she opened her mouth to volunteer.</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“You’re pardoned.”</p><p>Mustang frowned at him; a familiar look that had lost its bite long ago. ”You know what I mean.” The younger tilted his head with a glower to match.</p><p>“I said dibs.” He cross his arms and glared at Mustang. “I’ve got the best chance of <em>not</em> getting attacked by this guy and, either way, I’ll know how he thinks better than the rest of you.”</p><p>He was nailed with four identical gazes, each carrying an undertow of relief alongside concern.</p><p>“Are you sure?” Al asked hesitantly. He cast a glance at the rest of the room and found a whole lot of concern spun tightly together by resignation. It was a milder reaction than Ed was anticipating. With all the buckets of paranoia the Colonel and his merry band of conspiracist had been totting around, he was ready for a wave of protests. A chant of <em>no</em> or <em>you can’t</em>. Perhaps a dash of <em>so help me Fullmetal I’ll break your knees if you walk into the room</em>. But they exchanged wary looks and refocused on Ed was a hesitant type of trust.</p><p>“If anything happens, call for us.” Mustang said firmly. Ed, for once, didn’t let the snide remarks begging to be slingshotted across the room fly free. He smiled with all the confidence he could muster and raise his hand in a proper salut.</p><p>“You got it.”</p><p>They let him slip into the room and somehow he didn’t feel nervous.</p><p>It was fucking <em>weird</em>, sure. But nothing about the double seemed all that danger. Ed had mistrust stuffed up to his ears, but there was a careful affinity settling between them. They’d exchanged exactly one sentence, yet he didn’t become apprehensive. Maybe it was silly and childish, but Ed simply couldn’t find it in him to be fearful of his own damn reflection, even muddled and singed.</p><p>He considered thieving a page from Mustang’s withered old book and took to calling his doppelgänger Fullmetal, but thought better of it within moments. Ed was pretty sure the Colonel had muttered that towards the tail end of the ride back to the Rockbell household and had felt his gut roll. <em>Fullmetal</em>. The titled he’d been gifted at age twelve that’d slowly become a ball and chain determined to make him miserable.</p><p>He didn’t want to saddle anyone with the title anymore than he had to. The only reason Ed allowed Mustang, the stubborn bastard, to keep using it is because he’d come to recognize it as a nickname rather than a moniker to be carried on his breaking back.</p><p>Almost like a term of companionship or endearment, but a little to the left.</p><p>This was a real person. It screamed from every line and scar, wailing out to be recognized and <em>good god</em> did Ed recognize it.<br/>It wasn’t as though this was a carbon copy. He was a human being with a name. <em>Edward</em>.</p><p>And so he’d fucking <em>use it</em>.</p><p>Ed dropped into a chair and leaned forward, studying him. It was a bit hard with his back turned and a barrage of blankets having been swarmed around him curtsy of Winry, but Ed was able to catch a flash of mismatched flesh. His brow furrowed.</p><p>Winry had mentioned a prosthetic arm, hadn’t she?</p><p>A vicious battle broke out between curiosity and a flaccid, weak sense of politeness.</p><p>Common curtesy didn’t stand a chance in the face of an Elric and soon enough he was inching closer.A glimpse of the sheets and Ed knew they’d been resting in a waste basket soon after from the bright red leaking onto it in streaks. Ed peered at the prosthetic.</p><p>It almost looked like a normal arm, save for the rivets that and cuts wielding no scabs and the way the hue was just a little off.</p><p>He made a wonderful mistake and reached out to poke it. Only once, he’d sworn.</p><p>But on contact the room fell away.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>There sat four people on a catwalk, legs swing over the open space below and elbows resting on a low railing. They stared down at a platform farmed by red curtains with costumed folk shouting at one another.</p><p>“First chair.” A girl with long, dark hair proclaimed quietly, shooting a look to the other three.</p><p>“Second.” The tallest among them responded, a red haired child perched in his lap.</p><p>“Pianist will miss ten notes by the end of the first movement. All or nothing.”</p><p>The girl leaned against the raining, shooting a playfully smug look to the blond settled in the middle. “Say goodbye to your candied ginger, Ed.”</p><p>He snickered. The redhead reached over and swatted a hand at Edward’s shoulder. “Guys I’m watching! Shh!” He hissed, beaming down at the stage. The man looked down at the boy with raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Percy, kiddo…You’ve seen this show a thousand times before.”</p><p>He pouted. “And I want to see it<em> again.”</em></p><p>“Fair enough.” He rested his chin on the crown of Percy’s head and wrapped an arm around him.</p><p>A young actress scurried across the stage, chased by a woman wielding a wooden spoon. They shouted back and forth. Percy was utterly enthralled.</p><p>“Eight… Nine… Ten notes missed by our <em>darling</em> pianist.” Edward held out his hand with a grin. The girl huffed and dug something out of her pocket, accompanied by the soft crinkling of wax paper. She begrudgingly slapped the little package into Edward’s hand. He pulled the paper loose and caught a piece of toffee between his teeth. “I don’t know how to lose.”</p><p>“Watch closely son,” The man muttered to Percy, “Goldie is about to get pushed off the catwalk and fall to his death.”</p><p>“Dev!” Edward sputtered. The boy laughed into his hand while his father blinked innocently. “Don’t give her ideas.”</p><p>“Too late.”</p><p>“Noah’s gonna kill Ed.” Percy whispered.</p><p>“As she should!” Dev said, hand gesturing over theatrically to the blond. “He swindled her.”</p><p>“Hey, I won the bet!”</p><p>“Didn’t hear you over the sound of first chair’s broken bridge.” Noah pointed down to the spread of musicians fervently sawing away at cellos and god forsaken violas. The man sitting at the first chair was scrambling whilst his peers ignored his plight with cheerful indifference.</p><p>Edward grumbled and tossed her a small box done up in bright red paint and a dull string.</p><p>Noah caught it was ease and smiled, legs kicking almost childishly beneath her. “Pleasure doing business with you.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ed blinked the spots from his vision, his head having the time of its fucking life of a carousel and spiralling madly. He pressed a hand to his temple.</p><p>What was that?!</p><p>A hallucination? Some kind of shock-induced dream? A memory?</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut, one hand feeling for the chair that had been standing there. He grasped blindly before his mind reeled back and whipped out a magnifying glass, retracing his own though process.</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A memory.</em>
</p><p>Ed forced himself to straighten up, hand slowly pulling away from his face. He was meet with his own eyes staring back at him from the bed.</p><p>It was said that gold couldn’t rust, but Ed knows that fucking <em>wrong</em>. The proof was right there in front of him.</p><p>Edward watched him for a long moment. Ed returned the favour, his arms falling limp at his sides. He scrounged for words but came up empty handed. Edward’s face fell flat. His left hand found a home slapped against his forehead.</p><p>“Oh for <em>fucks sake</em>.”</p><p>Ed choked and the surprise and bafflement grew into plain old exasperation. “Elegantly put.”</p><p>Edward glared at him. It was unnerving to be on the receiving end of his own look of distain, gaze sharp, choleric and twined with agitation. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”</p><p>“<em>Well enough</em>… You were bleeding out.” Ed replied plainly.<br/>It was all so strange. Off-putting. Kinda funny in its own twisted way. He was talking to himself. Ed was talking to himself and the other him was talking back.</p><p>“Should’ve just built a wall or something…” The double shifted with a grimace. His right arm didn’t seem to be moving. “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t cuff me to the post.”</p><p>“I’m kinda surprised you’re not dead.” Ed replied, strikingly honest. He didn’t much care though because, again, his brain had flown into overdrive.<br/>“Me too.”</p><p>Hawkeye had been right in all her descriptions. The blurry picture helped a little too, but looking at him down, Ed was suddenly very glad for the differences. Other than the apparent hole Edward had running through his chest, that is. Ed shifted awkwardly.</p><p>“I’m uh… gonna grab everyone else.”</p><p>The other was busy looking ready to slam his head into a wall, but managed to reply. “Great.” If Ed was to guess, he’d say Edward was about to try to sit up and absolutely ruin all of Winry and Hawkeye’s agonized work trying to keep his insides o<em>n the inside</em>. But he knew there was no way to stop it from happening. Better than anyone, he knew.</p><p>Ed left the room and eased the door shut.</p><p>Mustang was sitting hunched over on one of the sofas, Al by his side and Winry fiddling with her newfound favourite piece of porcelain. Ed realized he hadn’t the slightest clue how long he had actually been in there. Was it a few minutes or had the memory stretched on for hours?</p><p>All of their eyes darted up to him when the hinges let out a low creak. “So, he’s up.” He told them, calm and still trying to shake off the confusion clinging to his skin.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Somehow, the room didn't explode.</span></p><p>“Did he say anything?” Al asked. Ed leaned against the wall while his brother rose from his seat. He didn’t see or hear the rest of Mustang’s team, but figured they’d come barreling through in a snap.</p><p>A literal snap. Mustang was the type to do something like that, the smarmy prick.</p><p>Al was still looking at him questioningly.</p><p>Ed shrugged. “He said, and I quote, <em>oh for fuck’s sake</em>.”</p><p>The dark haired man had the audacity to bark out a laugh. “Oh it’s <em>definitely</em> Fullmetal.”</p><p>“I will break your kneecaps, you stale crouton.” Ed threatened, mild and sweet as a slice of lemonade. Mustang shook his head and let the bemused smile fall away, growing somber. His shoulders were dropping and the poor idiot looked tired as hell. Ed had half a mind to plant a hand on his arm and offer up a little bit of encouragement. He bit his tongue before anything managed to burst out.<br/>Al touched Ed’s shoulder with a soft, concerned frown. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.</p><p>“The walls are thin, you know.” Came a voice from through the door. Ed blanched.</p><p>While Hawkeye and Havoc were off scrubbing blood from their hands, the rest of them crowded into the spare room. As expected, Edward was stubbornly sitting with his legs crossed and gripping his arm. Was it broken?</p><p>Mustang led the charge with the notes they’d spent hours decoding and wearing a spectacular scowl. He marched right up and looked ready for a full blown interrogation when the blond casually pulled a switchblade from his pocket and plunged the knife into his right forearm. The one that was fake. Didn't stop the shock though.</p><p>The way that look of determination was slapped clean off the Colonels face was almost worth the shock that jolted through the rest of the room.</p><p>“What’re you—!?”</p><p>The double paid them no mind, dragging the blade down to his elbow and pushing aside the material. It wasn’t skin, obviously... silicon maybe? To no one’s real surprise, it revealed a prothetic, but that hardly lessened the unnerving experience of watching someone, in essence, stab themselves.</p><p>The movement seemed practiced too. Ed shuttered inwardly at the implications in the context of his <em>own</em> life, presently, reminding himself that this guy <em>didn’t</em> have his arm. That it wasn’t <em>actually</em> painful.</p><p>Winry had stars in her eyes and was moments away from darting forward with a automail-exclusive spiel on her lips, but Al held her back. Edward’s arm was apparently run on a pull cord. He gave it a hard yank and flexed his hand carefully.</p><p>They all stared.</p><p>He sighed and looked at them with a very specific genre of exasperation in his gaze. Like it had been baked into existence with dashes of fondness and terror.</p><p>“Geez, it’s just a clockwork motor. You’re gonna catch flies.” He inched back from the small audience.</p><p>Ed, along with everyone else, managed to scrape their jaws off the floor. Edward was eyeing them and the door in a way not unlike a cornered rabbit, though it was admittedly suppressed. Ed might very well be the only one who could recognize the nuances in his gaze because it was the something that he would be able to feel fitted tightly over his own features in the midst of a fight.</p><p>Mustang steeled himself and Ed wished for a bowl of popcorn because he looked ready to explode. Edward, in turn, gazed up a him quietly with something sad flickering through his eyes.</p><p>Ed squinted, trying to zero in on the flashes. If his deduction could be trusted—he had a self inflected insurance policy for money back if his margin of error was over ten percent— it was nostalgia mixed with distrust into a cocktail of melancholy. The blond sighed.</p><p>“What’s this?” Mustang whipped out the notes and practically threw it down. The way the paper flittered to a stop on the edge of the bed ruined the effect. Edward didn’t break eye contact as he replied.</p><p>“What’s it look like? Research notes.”</p><p>“<em>Bullshit</em>.” Ed crossed his arms and stepped forward, side by side with the dark haired alchemist. Their guest hardly budged. Save, of course, for a flinch. “We use the same code genius.”<br/>An immovable object and an unstoppable force. Ed hoped they wouldn’t mow down the countryside.</p><p>“If you know what it is then why’d you ask?”<br/>“Because I wanna know why you wrote <em>I need to run</em> under ten layers of ciphers in some notes about fantasy physics.”</p><p>He looked unimpressed, bored almost. Like this was just another day of the week and casual interrogation didn’t seem to faze him. Or maybe he was really good at feigning apathy. “There was a war. I literally needed to run.”</p><p>Oh. Well. That was a lot easier than expected.</p><p>Edward glanced between the two, eyebrows climbing to his hairline. “Well if that’s all, I’ll be on my way.” His feet hit the floor lightly. Ed backed up by a step, ready to block the door if needed.</p><p>Luckily, he didn’t have to. Colonel ‘splosion blew his lid before Edward could stand up. The man growled, hands curling. Frustration rolled off him in stifling waves while the underpinnings of desperation (the angry kind when there’s been one too many wrong answers and you’re too proud to call it quits) coursed through the air.</p><p>“The hell you will!” Mustang yelled. “You’re going to sit there and answer our damn question because we just spent two months tracking you, thinking you might be another homunculus! You’ve got a bullet wound that should’ve killed you and haven’t stopped running since East City.” He scowled. “You’re not leaving.”</p><p>Edward blinked in the silence. Mustang huffed and stepped back, arms folded over his chest while everyone looked at him, wide eyed and mildly impressed.</p><p>Then there came a laugh. Edward doubled over, hands braced against his knees while he sputtered. He reared back with a tired, wistful smile. “You’re <em>still</em> an asshole. A bastard in every world.”</p><p>While the rest of them were shellshocked and had their eyelids glued open, Mustang managed to respond, smoothly and with the tinges of agitation fading away. “And you’re still a brat in every world.”</p><p>Ed didn’t even have time to feel offended. He silently back-peddled and started frantically adding the numbers in his head. Because of all things, <em>laugher</em> wasn’t something he hadn’t expected.</p><p>“So are you going to try to bolt again?” Ed asked.</p><p>“On a busted foot? Nah.” Edward drew in a deep breath, eyes going from person to person with purpose. Intention and recognition flashed like lightning—horror, guilt, rage, sorrow, regret and a whole lot of loneliness—it happened in a split second, but then came the deafening, thunderous quiet.</p><p>“Your eyes are different.”</p><p>He was looking past Mustang and Ed, ignoring Breda as well. He stared at Al.</p><p>Ed felt a small surge of protectiveness, gaze sharpening in case he needed to jump in front of his brother for whatever reason. But Edward stayed put, mouth pressed into a line and the creases on his face spelling grief. He didn’t even try to hide it.</p><p>Al’s eyebrows rose, head tilted quizzically. “What?”</p><p>“His were grey.” The older said, words breathlessly pulled from his throat.</p><p>“His?” Al took a half step forward. “Who are—oh. You mean your brother, right?”</p><p>“Yeah. You look—of course you do. You’re <em>him</em>.” He sighed bitterly, a hand running through his hair. His expression softened a little. Ed recognized the careful smile all too well. He beat back the urge to prod and pry at the mystery box laid out in front of him because the only time he would look like that was when the sky was about to come tumbling down. When all his good faith and scraggily remains of hope planted itself on the back of a train and waved was it whizzed past.</p><p>It was reserved for when he felt lost. And damnit, Ed desperately wanted to know <em>why</em>.</p><p>“Wish the circumstances were better but you all have no idea how good it is to see you. Even if you’re not the ones I knew. This is so ridiculous. Fuck, okay. What do you need to know?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope the literal 35K of buildup was worth it!<br/>Maybe not, for some of you. That's fine!<br/>Also sorry if I messed any of the langue stuff up I swear I tried.</p><p>Anyways... So! Much! Art! I'm still in a state of utter disbelieve cause over the past week there's just been... so much kindness.<br/>Of course I'm gonna link all the works here. Please check them out and support the artists!<br/><a href="https://raisans-art.tumblr.com/post/626396606566154240/im-a-dummy-with-simple-needs-and-liathgray">1t</a> <a href="https://liathgray.tumblr.com/post/626444114921144320/httpsimgurcomam3jshfp-httpsimgurcomaptj">2</a> <a href="https://liathgray.tumblr.com/post/626534674817253376/aw-im-flattered-u-appreciated-those-doodles">3</a> <a href="https://https://magmatickobaian.tumblr.com/post/626476168161509376/the-trees-that-whisper-in-the-evening-carried">4</a> <a href="https://magmatickobaian.tumblr.com/post/626648849168105472/i-have-pr%C3%B6d%C3%BBc%C3%A9d-a-third-piece-of-art-for-capra-by">5</a> <a href="https://beetlejuicesandwich.tumblr.com/post/626779685826822144/the-finished-product-an-art-of-liathgray-s">6</a> <a href="https://petalpatches.tumblr.com/post/626850082174730240/if-this-doesnt-loadlooks-bad-lmk-ive-never">7</a> <a href="https://zuvatea.tumblr.com/post/626885947047444480/ed-i-could-draw-you-every-day-but-i-mean-i">8</a></p><p>!!! EIGHT!! Absolutely amazing. I love y'all so so much. See ya next week!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Leapfrog</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Discussion and vague depiction of war/ wartime living conditions. Implied disassociation. Discussion of death. Mentions of child death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first, Roy didn’t see it.</p><p>He missed the twitches and wary looks, but as the conversation went on, he started to catch it in glimpses. The way Fullmetal would jump at loud noises. He spoke far quieter than Ed could ever dream of and his eyes had a nasty case of wander-syndrome: they lashed and darted around constantly.</p><p>Roy began to notice that Fullmetal had a tendency to flinch. His hand would drift to his back pocket where there sat the outline of a clip on his belt. A holster, if Roy had to guess, made from wire and shoe leather. The boy’s shoulders tensed when any of the officers present spoke, glancing to their badges before forcing himself to relax.</p><p>The thing that made him the most uneasy was <em>where</em> he would always be looking. Never their faces. Hell, never even their heads.</p><p>He would watch their hands.</p><p>Carefully, cautiously, despite the fact that a truce had been settled on moments after he’d woken up.</p><p>The kid had the demeanour of someone waiting for the other shoe to drop; he had the look of someone who’d seen fire and blood.</p><p>After the floodgates opened and everyone started spouting questions, Fullmetal had blinked at them, looking dizzy and rather overwhelmed.</p><p>“Shut up for a sec, I’ll grab some paper.” He’d said mildly, then stood and left the room. They followed, watching him flip a sheet over and draw out a diagram. “I have no way of knowing how accurate this is cause rocket science is literally useless, but it’s the best theory I’ve got.”</p><p>“Rocket science?” Winry whispered. She was practically shaking with excitement. Roy sighed; that girl couldn’t turn off her brain any more than the Elrics. Which there were now three off. His head hurt.</p><p>Fullmetal waved off her question. “Yeah, bunch of people are trying to reach the moon. They’d put bombs underneath a hollow missile and cross their fingers.”</p><p>“Missile?”</p><p>“You know what? Forget I said anything.”</p><p>Roy was manically filing away all the red flags for later inspection.</p><p>Fullmetal had drawn out a series of circles, connected with arrows and ringing a box labeled as <em>The Gate</em>. In brackets he wrote something that look suspiciously like a scribbled out string of curses, but Roy thought better than to question.</p><p>He was getting what he’d asked for, after all, and it didn’t take nearly as much convincing (<em>threatening</em>) as he had anticipated. He squinted down at the diagram. It looked almost like the lay out of a clock.</p><p>Fullmetal pointed to one of the circles. “Let’s say this was my world,” he dragged the pen in a line to the dot on the left, “and this is a world without alchemy. One takes the energy from the other for transmutations, but time moves differently.” He paused and glanced to Mustang. Hawkeye and Havoc had joined and were still looking rather shellshocked.</p><p>Apparently Fullmetal was handling it better than the rest, though he had at least two months to process the information, unlike the rest of them. Roy was doing a speed run of acceptance and understanding over the course of an hour.</p><p>The stages of grief could be applied to discovering parallel universes, apparently.</p><p>Their guest clicked his pen. “Wait, what year is it here?”</p><p>“It’s 1916”</p><p>“So I was right. Europe was in the forties. Last I checked, anyways.”</p><p>Roy’s eyebrow raised. “Last you <em>checked</em>?”</p><p>“Christ, are you going to backtrack every three seconds?” He shot back, clearly exasperated. Fullmetal still looked… terrible? Yeah that summed it up. Though colour had returned to his face, it didn’t make the plainly exhausted look any less disconcerting.</p><p>And… <em>Christ?</em></p><p>Roy frowned. “Are <em>you</em> just going to keep saying things and not explaining it?”</p><p>“Well do you want a lesson on ten centuries worth of history for forty some-odd countries?”</p><p>“…so time moves differently.”</p><p>“Faster.” He corrected. “I got thrown here going through the Gate. It’s a one way street unless something is there to pull you to the right side.” Roy waited for him to elaborate but the younger pressed on. He explained in the briefest of terms that there was likely a parallel without alchemy for every world that could use it. Ed and Al were both leaning forward—stars in their eyes, vibrating through the floor with excitement—and Fullmetal pulled away as casually as he could. Particularly from Al.</p><p>He was constantly avoiding the younger boy’s eyes and dodging the questions he asked with vague responses. Every time it touched on something even <em>slightly</em> personal, Fullmetal would clam up and jump back into a pond of scientific jargon, loosing them in the undertow.</p><p>“How’d you get here, then?” Al questioned.</p><p>“I jumped.” It was a vexing, unreadable half-lie. Roy glanced to Hawkeye and she confirmed his suspicions of the kid bending the truth.</p><p>The inquires and clipped responses went on for a long while and it seemed like Fullmetal had kicked awkwardness into an open abyss in favour of fast, no-nonsense answers. Effective? Yes. Bewildering and maybe a little suspicious? Absolutely.</p><p>Havoc held up a hand. “Okay so. Just to clarify, you’ve been to how many worlds now?”</p><p>“Three total.”</p><p>The man frowned, glaring down at the graph. “Then why here? Why not the one you were from?”</p><p>Fullmetal shrugged. “I think god hates me. Probably finds this is funny or something.”</p><p>“And how long were you in uh… what was it called?”</p><p>“Europe.”He supplied.</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“About three years.”</p><p>“Wait.” Roy gave him a look because either his math was off or— “How old are you?”</p><p>“Uh, nineteen. Why?” His head suddenly was flooded with ideas about altered time flow and non-linear ways of processing the world. He beat them back into a corner and refocused.</p><p>Ed tilted his head, realizing the same thing and likely not having the patience to stall his alchemic lawn-mower of a brain any more than the precious moments it took to register the words. His mind would cut through problems so fast it was almost scary. Roy choose to use the word <em>impressive</em> on most occasions. “You’re a year older than me.”</p><p>Roy snorted. “And somehow still shorter.”</p><p>Fullmetal glared at him, the calm expression hiding a dozen knives all lovingly sharpened and pointed towards the older alchemist’s head. “If you wanted me to break your nose, you could’ve just asked.”</p><p>“Anyways,” Al cut in, sending scolding looks to both Ed and Roy. Fullmetal once again shied away. “You said you got there just as a war was building up?”</p><p>“Like I said. God hates me.” He said stiffly. Never once did he meet Al’s eyes after they migrated out of the spare room. Roy wondered how intentional the action was before he latched onto a new topic: war.<br/>It was something he was intimately familiar with and recognized the signs Witten on Fullmetal with ease. He knew Hawkeye could see it too. Roy held his breath and took the plunge.</p><p>“How bad was the war?”</p><p>“<em>Bad</em>.”</p><p>His tone made Roy drop it immediately.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You killed Lust?” He asked incredulously. Roy frowned and added it to the pile of questions growing in his mind. Currently it was the height of a small escarpment, but would surely be taller than Briggs before they finished trading conspiracies.</p><p>“She tried to kill us first.” He replied with a shrug.</p><p>“Hum. She wasn’t all that bad in my world.”</p><p>“So she didn’t try to kill you?”</p><p>“Oh no, she did.” Fullmetal said casually. Like, <em>oh yes this artificial human, this sweet little alchemic abomination tried to remove my head from my shoulders.</em> Roy was starting to hate the picture being painted in his head about the exact life this kid had lived. Sure, Ed hadn’t been dealt a kind hand, not by a long shot, it was rather cruel to be frank, but being so glib about death was unsettling at the very least. “But, you know, water under the bridge.” The blond finished. Cavalier and uncaring right down to the last syllable.</p><p>“What the hell?” Al whispered softly. He didn’t even feel shocked at hearing the younger Elric swear and only nodded in agreement.</p><p>Fullmetal plowed ahead. “So, all of them are dead?”</p><p>“Every one.” Hawkeye kept her composure, bless her.</p><p>Fullmetal paused, sitting back. He thought for a moment before offering his own body count. Which was an awful way to phrase it. Roy mentally slapped himself. “I only got three out of seven.”</p><p>“Which three?”</p><p>“Sloth, Greed and, uh… Well, Lust died trying to help me. I know Wrath is alive but the rest? Not a clue.”</p><p>Roy’s eyes narrowed. He’d mentioned earlier they had been controlled by someone, a woman named Dante, but not… “Do you know how they were created?”</p><p>The younger kept his gaze down. “No.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“—just <em>decided</em> to punch a god?”</p><p>“Correct.”</p><p>“Wow. Good for you. And the Colonel did something <em>useful</em>? Wanna trade?”</p><p>Roy sputtered. “I… I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.” Hawkeye looked amused and he wished she’d let him keep at least a little piece of his pride through the ordeal. She had never been that merciful, though.</p><p>“Flip a coin and find out.” Fullmetal shot him a dull smirk. It was rusted from disuse, the expression out of practice. “Last time I saw my world’s Mustang, he was headed off to commit some federal crimes including but not limited to arson, first degree murder, and probably theft.”</p><p>Havoc and Breda choked on their drinks, coughing and giving wide-eyed looks. “He <em>what</em>?!”</p><p>“A first class suicide mission.”</p><p>Roy shook his head. “Wait what was he—I? Going to do.”</p><p>“You were going to kill Bradley. <em>Pride</em>. He was doing it to…” A bright scarlet flag popped up and the air soured. Roy struggled with the mental gymnastics before processing the words entirely and his eyes growing sharper.</p><p>“To what?” He prompted, but the answer had already started to crawl out of the current of thoughts still racing through him, pulled to the forefront and Roy dreaded the answer as soon as he asked.</p><p>Fullmetal paused, brow pinched and mouth twisted in the biggest display of non-deflective emotion since the word go. “Hughes. Is he—“</p><p>The atmosphere dived into iciness, words dying in Fullmetal’s throat. Everyone had grown somber. He breathed out a harsh sigh.</p><p>(Why the fuck did he look <em>relived</em>?)</p><p>“<em>Of course</em> he’s dead. What about Marcoh?”</p><p>“He’s fine. Looks different, but he’s still alive.”</p><p>“I don’t supposed Scar is still around too?” There was a haunting note of hopefulness in his voice. It made Roy itch to slip his gloves from his pocket, gooseflesh rising at the back of his neck because the otherworld corpses had started to pile. He managed to smooth out his expression and avoid glancing at the restrained horror painted across Al and Winry’s faces.</p><p>“How many people died in your world?”</p><p>“A lot.” Somehow each answer only brought more questions, but they were all topics just out of reach.</p><p>Roy wouldn’t dare try to touch them unless Fullmetal broached it himself. Not yet, at least. Even then, he would walk on eggshells. Roy was raised in an empire of information; the instinct to pry and grasp at answers until his fingers bled was overwhelming. But there was that <em>look</em> in his eyes. It was a macabre reflection of his own when he’d first returned from the east and spent nights drowning in shame and whiskey. So Roy bit his tongue and let his stacks of things to bring up in private grow.</p><p>He pulled Hawkeye into the hallway and she met his eyes grimly, confirmation falling from her lips like a bomb.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It took a while to fully compare notes, but once they were through it all, Roy felt a strange mix of relived and lost.</p><p>That isn’t to say the exchange hadn’t come without its moments of deadly shock and anger, or that the information wasn't overwhelming and so thoroughly diverged from what Roy had experienced it sparked an ache between his eyes.</p><p>It most certainly did both things and he craved ibuprofen.</p><p>The sun had taken up residence on the distant hills and the spotty (at best) sleep schedule they had all been on started to catch up. Not the mention Fullmetal still looked beyond tired; half dead and dangerously pale. To the point where Roy was surprised he hadn’t passed out yet. He looked close.</p><p>Breda and Havoc were both leaning over the table with their eyes slipping while Winry had gotten up and said she was going to find some spare blankets. His subordinates made excuses and darted to safety.</p><p>Without anything left to say, the room was quiet and awkward. Fullmetal had reattached his foot and pretended to be looking it over, dutifully avoiding eye contact while the other Elrics and Roy screamed at each other with their expressions.</p><p>Exhaustion pulled and pulled and <em>pulled</em> until Winry grabbed Ed and Al by the elbows and threw them into her Grandmother’s room.</p><p>She hesitantly offered a sofa to Fullmetal, but he declined sharply and walked out the front door.</p><p>Winry looked towards Roy. “You don’t think he’ll run again, do you?”</p><p>“Where would he go?” He replied, a thoughtful sigh touching at the words. She placed two blankets on a chair.</p><p>“Keep an eye out.” Winry said, pausing at the steps leading upstairs. He nodded in response and she left.</p><p>The house grew quiet, mostly occupied by lamps and candles. He tried to stay awake, to keep himself alert with peeled ears just in case Fullmetal went skipping down the road and ruined all the work they’d poured into finding him. It was a doomed battle from the start and soon enough he slumped against the wooden table, head buried in his arms.</p><p>He pilfered a mug and teabags from the kitchen in the morning, while the sun still sat cradled below the horizon.</p><p>Everything felt still, like the whole house had risen above the clouds and they were drinking in their first breath of air in months. Roy heard the door creak.</p><p>He turned to find Fullmetal looking no more rested and a bit windblown.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>The kid almost knocked his head against the ceiling with how high he jumped, hand flying to his back pocket, eyes panicked. It was gone in an instant and his arms dropped to his sides, a defeated sound pulled from his lips. “You’re gonna give me an aneurism.”</p><p>Roy's brow twisted hard into curiosity, but he didn't comment.</p><p>The younger walked across the creaky floorboards without a sound, equally silent in his search for a mug.</p><p>Roy gave him a once over, mindful of the way his hair was swept and clothes were rumpled—thankfully not the bloodstained ones, he’d traded those out for some spares hidden away with the rest of his belongings. Roy cocked his head. “Did you go somewhere?”</p><p>“A walk.” Fullmetal said tersely.</p><p>“Wanna be more specific?”</p><p>“Wanna stop being a nosey jerk?”</p><p>The older man leaned back and nursed his tea.</p><p>The sleep had admittedly helped him sort out his thoughts. They were still clustered and fluttering, but far more organized. Less prone to scream and shoot headache-inducing ricochets through his skull. He still hadn’t settled on a decision about their guest.</p><p>It was clear enough he wasn’t an outright threat, though paranoia argued vehemently. There were moments of clear recognition where he would see <em>Ed</em> in this alternate’s language and movements. But sometimes, instead of seen an Elric, it was himself or Hawkeye and <em>that</em> was more frightening than he cared to acknowledge.</p><p>It reminded him of his time in canvas tents and surrounded by gunfire; the steady <em>drip-drip-drip</em> of blood onto sand and taste of horror in the air. What was he supposed to do with that?</p><p>Ask about it? <em>Demand</em>? </p><p>Roy knew well enough that if someone had tried to talk about his service in Ishval he’d either punch them in the nose, seize up, or fall apart. If it had been only a few months afterwards, he probably would have spilled his guts and melted into remorse.</p><p>It didn’t help that the boy still sending him glares was dressed in codes and secrecy. He’d snapped his mouth shut the moment questions strayed towards what happened on the other side of the Gate. On the technical level, it had been been easy; he was agreeable, ready to reply when they inquired. The mathematic things and the science, that was all well and good. But what actually <em>happened</em>.</p><p>To Fullmetal. To <em>Edward</em>… it was under wraps and drenched in something nasty. Alcohol or smoke or tear gas. Maybe all three.</p><p>Roy didn’t know what to make of it all or how to talk to him. It was a nonsensical situation to begin with and having a hardened, volatile version of the already traumatized and world-weary person he knew dropped at his feet was enough for Roy to reel back.</p><p>Lost in thought, his hands twitched and strained tightly against his mug.</p><p>“I went to the graveyard.” Fullmetal said quietly. He walked back out the front door, a limp hitching at his steps. Roy sat there for a moment, nonplussed, yanked forcefully from his mental tirade and shellshocked.</p><p>
  <em>He answered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He gave you an opening.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Take it.</em>
</p><p>Roy tensed, drink clattering to the table and he scrambled after the blond.</p><p>His feet carried him to the porch while the pleads of tact tempted him towards betrayal. <em>Turn around</em> they whispered. But the desire for resolution and explanations—proper ones that weren’t cut off halfway through—proved powerful. It puppeteered him onwards, step after step to where Fullmetal sat.</p><p>He was on the edges of visibility, hidden in a shadowy spot at the side of the house, blending into the shrouded grass seamlessly, save for the damn near <em>blinding</em> shock of gold. His head was tilted back, looking up towards the sky freckled with clouds and a shining moon, fading rapidly into the fresh sunlight.</p><p>The dark haired man approached hesitantly, sure that Fullmetal could see him in his peripheral vision but making no indication that he took notice.</p><p>Roy observed for a few seconds.</p><p>“The sky is different here.” Fullmetal said quietly. Roy stood beside the younger for a moment, unsure if he should wait for some kind of invitation or simply start pressing for information. Unsure of what the kid even <em>meant</em> by that.</p><p>“The stars and the planets… all of it.” Fullmetal wilted against the house, back pressed to the wall. “There’s no man in the moon.”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Just talking to myself.”</p><p>The sky being different and strolls to graveyards... Maybe he’s just messing with Roy.</p><p>He moved to sit, keeping a good few feet between himself and Fullmetal but staying in his line of sight. The blond didn’t seem to mind, so Roy leaned back and followed his gaze. “How bad was the war, really?” The older alchemist asked for the second time. Fullmetal’s face fell, fixing him with that awful, haunted look that didn’t belong on such a young face.</p><p>“It wasn’t like Ishval, if that’s what you’re asking. It wasn’t a normal war.”</p><p>“Neither was Ishval,” He kept a firm grasp on his composure and hoped to remain level through the conversation. Loud voices murmured the happenings of trenches and battlefields, grinning in his ear. It didn’t matter if this was merely another version of Ed. He shouldn’t’ve had to see war. Not after the hell he’d already been through. <em>Not ever</em>.</p><p>“<em>Trust me</em>.” He spat. “You were a soldier. You <em>chose</em> to go and they were were fighting back. I was a civilian. People were dropping like flies.”</p><p>“It’s… it’s not usual for people to die in a war.” He said slowly.</p><p>“Okay, fine. Then it wasn’t a <em>war</em>.” Fullmetal glared out at the dark field, hands curled. The gleam of trauma with shining over his face and the flinches of a veteran yanked at his spine. “It was something else.”</p><p>Roy stayed silent, arms folding. He tried to give an understanding look. Based on the weary exhale Fullmetal gave, it didn’t work. He tried once more. “I’d get if you’re hesitant to discuss it, but if anyone here’ll understand, it’s me or the Lieutenant. Shoving it down won’t help.”</p><p>He laughed harshly. “Like you’re one to talk.”</p><p>Roy brushed off the jab and rocked back, hands braced behind him on the dirt and grass. “I can go get her, if you’d prefer.”</p><p>“Well I’d <em>prefer</em> if you stopped sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.” Fullmetal sneered. The older continued to stare, masking the curiosity with sincerity. He didn’t how much of it was real and how much was built up for persuasion. The cuts sneaking out from Fullmetal’s collar, just below his jaw—they’d been made with a switchblade, he realized—only made Roy redouble his efforts.</p><p>It took a long while of silent prodding, but Fullmetal cracked. He sunk down into his hands, elbows resting on his legs. Roy couldn’t get a good view of his face but the words were clear, stubborn and hesitant. “We weren’t in a war zone… They’d just take folk off the streets and shoot them. Or hang them. They hung a lot of people.”</p><p><em>We</em>. He said <em>we</em>. Who else was there?</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because they could.”</p><p>Roy sucked in a sharp breath. Fullmetal’s eyes were downcast and tarnished. “I remembered the names, though. As many as I could anyways… memorized them.”</p><p>The older reigned in the instinct the scream nonsense into the air and wish this wasn’t so hard.</p><p><em>And it was hard.</em> It felt bad to speak and worse to listen. “Why?”</p><p>Fullmetal shrugged. “No one else was going to. They don’t deserve to be forgotten.”</p><p>He waited again for the blond to speak again. A sense of affinity slowly spun itself into a thread tied between them, and Roy felt more and more of his apprehension fade away. It was replaced with empathy. Not yet compassion, not by a long shot, but he grew gentler in the intervals of quiet.The tension started to leech away from the kid's shoulders as he spoke.</p><p>“The police could kill anyone they wanted. If the authorities couldn’t justify an arrest, the person would <em>go missing.</em>” He sounded painfully detached. Roy watched him out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“I see... did they go after you?”</p><p>His hands smoothed, jaw twitching. “Not really. Kept my head down for a good while.“ He said it all without a single inflection in his tone. But his eyes flashed.</p><p>Roy narrowed his gaze. “I can tell you’re lying. You and Ed have all the same tics.”</p><p>Fullmetal’s hands returned to fists, gripping the cuffs of his sleeve. “What do you want me to say?” He snarled, spiting the words like venom. “That they staged an execution and shot four men because I wasn’t cooperating? Because<em> that’s what happened.</em>”</p><p>Fullmetal glared with the force of a typhoon. Roy looked away. “Sorry.”</p><p>“Yeah, you should be. <em>Feel shitty.</em> This has nothing to do with you and you’ve got no business prying into my life. Did it ever occur that maybe I don’t want to talk about this? At all? <em>With you?" </em>The amount of bitterness was astonishing. But Roy had never been one to back down; he’d never been able to let go of a hunch even if it cost him a black eye.</p><p>“But you’re still talking.” He replied, easy and unconcerned for the blow about to hit him, whether it be verbal or physical. But it never came.</p><p>“Asshole.” There was no force behind it at all. Fullmetal breathed the insult pathetically soft and defeated.</p><p>“Listen, I’m not trying to compare it to Ishval—“</p><p>“So <em>don’t</em>. There’s no comparison to make and it’s not a damn competition.” He hissed. “Shut up and leave.”</p><p>Roy exhaled and attempted to speak again. “—but,”</p><p>“Have you ever been on a boat?” Fullmetal jerked, straightening to look at him. His face was twisted and unequivocal in it’s measure of spite.</p><p>“...I have.” The older responded tentatively. He suddenly felt like he was walking over a minefield.</p><p>
  <em>Don’t fuck this up. He’s talking to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re getting what you want. You’re getting answers</em>
</p><p>(<em>You’re getting the story.</em>)</p><p>“Have you ever been on one three times over capacity?”</p><p>“Well—“ The younger alchemist cut him off before he could get out a reply.</p><p>“Full of scared and dying people so desperate to get away they tore out their organs and cut their hair just to get a ticket?”</p><p>Roy blinked, eyes wide and lips parted but unable to speak. Did that really happen?<em> Had he</em>—</p><p>“You ever watched people die because there wasn’t enough food and everyone is sick with scurvy or ship fever? You ever see bodies get tossed overboard because they were taking up space?” He snapped, jaw clenched. His voice was strained and tight. “People were fighting for safe passage and we weren’t even in a <em>war zone</em>.”</p><p>The words died in Roy’s throat. He shut his mouth and turned away, mind buzzing and faltering. He knew what ship fever meant. He knew easy it jumped from person to person. He’d seen dozens sent home in boxes after rashes and delirium chipped away at their psyche. Roy had only seen scurvy from afar, but it was brutal and ugly.</p><p>A suppressed shiver ran through him. Fullmetal’s eyes bore into him before flicking away. “Sorry.” He huffed. “That was unnecessary. Just leave it alone.”</p><p>Roy swallowed and nodded. “I spoke with Hawkeye earlier.” Fullmetal didn’t respond, just pressed his lips into a thin line. The Colonel ventured further. “I asked her about gunshot wounds.”</p><p>“So you did.”</p><p>Roy watched Fullmetal pick at the blades of grass, peeling them down the middle in a numbingly tediously loop.</p><p>Roy’s guard dropped. He hunch forward and tried to catch the boy’s eyes.</p><p>“That...” He he began with a nod to Fullmetal’s side, the boy’s hand stuck there on instinct. “It went through your lungs. It killed you, didn’t it?”</p><p>“Yeah.” He breathed. <em>Ah</em>. There they go. The walls came tumbling down in heaps. His defences lowered and it felt like a victory. “It did.”</p><p>“What happened?” Roy asked, tip toeing with each word.</p><p>Fullmetal scrubbed a hand over his face, brushing away his choppy hair. His shoulders sagged and he looked small. Not necessarily in stature, just... <em>small</em>. Hollowed out and gaunt. Old and young at the same time.</p><p>Roy rolled his dice and prayed to whoever might listen that his assumption was wrong. “You mentioned bombs. I didn’t see much so you don’t need to worry, but those... the burns on your shoulder. I can tell they’re from an explosion and shrapnel is similar enough to bullets—”</p><p>“Nah.” He waved the words off. “I made it through the air raids.”</p><p>Well that was a relief. To a degree. He’d have to look into the <em>air raids </em>thing later because apparently they had warfare in the skies.</p><p>He shuddered at the thought.</p><p>“So what was that...?” Roy prompted cautiously.</p><p>“Some idiot robber shot me. Pretty stupid way to go, huh.” Fullmetal’s eyes slipped shut. His jaw set stubbornly. Roy took note of it all, marking down the differences in twinges and reactions, the things that didn’t exist in the version he’d come to know.</p><p>It was clear that this kid was more skittish than Ed, choosing to dash around questions like his life depended on it. It made Roy wonder about the police situation he’d brought up earlier. The mountain of questions wouldn’t stop reaching skyward and his frustration grew in tandem because he couldn’t risk prying.</p><p>Not yet, anyways. There was hardly enough fragile, paper thin trust as is.</p><p>He could damn well wait if that what it took to get more out of the younger alchemist.</p><p>Roy had already seen the way he had start shutting down when someone asked about anything that wasn’t need-to-know. Fullmetal was prone to biting his tongue and deflected like a professional athlete striking a fastball. As though he’d heard the older man’s thoughts, Fullmetal sighed. “He was aiming at a kid. I jumped in without thinking.”</p><p>A conversation from hours earlier came back. Something Al had asked.</p><p>
  <em>How’d you get here, then?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I jumped.</em>
</p><p>He hadn’t expected the answer to be so truthful, or so literal and painfully believable. It sounded like the actions of an already dying man. Roy picked at the seams of his cuffs, tone conversational.</p><p>“And it killed you.”</p><p>“Before I even hit the floor.” He agreed.</p><p>“Well,” Roy started, “I don’t think thats a stupid way to die. It wasn’t <em>meaningless</em>. You saved someone—a kid. Can’t that be enough?”</p><p>The blond blew a stray strand of hair from his face. It was shorn off in a frayed wisp and Roy felt something nasty and dark bubble in his throat. A suspicion surfaced and he hoped that Fullmetal would prove him wrong a second time. The younger shrugged, glowering at his feet. “Not the first time something killed me.”</p><p>That thoroughly knocked him off balance. Roy balked. “What?”</p><p>Fullmetal had the nerve to smirk. He tapped his chest twice. “Envy stabbed me right through the middle.” His hands migrated to knock lightly against his head. “Got crushed by debris and—“ He spread his palms, the alternate colours clashing against each other. One was calloused and scarred, while the other was worn down to a thin shield. The material around his fingers was close to breaking open. “—I gave myself up for Al.”</p><p>“That’s… a lot.”</p><p>He waved off the blisteringly terrible revelation casually. Like he hadn’t just delivered a swift punch to Roy’s stomach and driven the air right out of his lungs. “It is what it is.” He said with a lopsided shrug. “Sucks though cause dying and falling asleep feel the same.”</p><p>Ah, so he <em>hadn’t</em> slept. That explained the red ringing Fullmetal’s eyes. “I have some <em>errands</em> to run in town. Might need to swing by a pharmacy. I hear sleep aids are helpful.” Roy said, cherrypicking the words and shooting the younger alchemist a look.</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>They fell into silence and it was the perfect opportunity for Roy to plot out his next move. Conversation was a chessboard and he needed to watch his footing. Fullmetal let the quiet wash over them, looking out over the rolling landscape, still dim but steadily becoming brighter.</p><p>Roy steeled himself and kept his eyes down. “The boat…”</p><p>“That boat?”</p><p>He swallowed thickly. “Well you—people selling their,” He floundered, “<em>extremities.</em> That’s what you said. Is that what happened?”</p><p>His hand drifted to the back of his neck, lightly running over the ragged scars with a rather vicious scowl springing up. “So <em>that’s</em> is. Should’ve known.” Fullmetal spat, giving him a frigid look. Roy blanched because <em>he’d overstepped.</em></p><p>What now?</p><p>An apology? Would that even do anything other than piss him off more? Fullmetal pushed himself up and glared.</p><p>There was a flash amongst the anger… disappointment. <em>Betrayal</em>.</p><p>“I don’t know why I thought… <em>you</em>, of all people,” He sneered bitterly, “would bother to have some fucking decency.” Fullmetal turned at left.</p><p>He didn’t slow, even with the slight stumble in his step, marching right down the main path and disappearing over the hill. Roy watched, kicking himself and cursing every curious bone in his body.</p><p>The front door creaked open, mismatched feet pattering over the steps. Something lightly swatted at his head. “Nice job Colonel.”</p><p>Ed stood over him, frowning, a rolled up paper in his hand. He grumbled in response. “<em>You</em> try talking to him, then. It’s like walking on eggshells.”</p><p>Ed sighed and folded him arms. “You could at least try to be, like, a little respectful. Back off a little and stop <em>pressing</em>.”</p><p>“What good’ll that do?”</p><p>“You’re hopeless.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Edward wished he had real flowers. Even cheap ones. Even <em>weeds</em> would do just fine.</p><p>(Percy liked dandelions. He’d point them out as they grew between the cracks of the sidewalk and say: “Look how friendly. It doesn’t know it’s not supposed to be here.”)</p><p>The closest thing Edward had was paper.</p><p>He sat in front of two headstones.</p><p>
  <em>Trisha Elric.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Van Hohenheim.</em>
</p><p>His parents. His mother’s gave was clean and untouched. It was maddening to know that she’d be left to rest easy after all she’d suffered through. She hadn’t been dragged back to life or shoved into the skin of a homunculus.</p><p>Trisha Elric was dead in both worlds.</p><p>It was a beautiful relief that things were different here and she hadn’t been torn apart by her own body a second time. But it made the loathing of his own actions increase tenfold.</p><p>The guilt was insurmountable knowing that Edward had dug his dirty, bloodied hands into the earth and pried open her coffin. That hadn’t happened here. Edward knew, logically, it wasn’t something he should beat himself up over. It had been out of necessity, and he already felt awful enough about the ordeal. Edward has already done plenty unkind things. Downright awful, at times.</p><p>He killed Greed and attack a young, terrified Wrath. He’d ruined a peaceful city in the east because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He killed his mother and abandoned Al, and even that was being generous. Maybe he failed his brother entirely.</p><p>This was just another stain on his record, wasn’t it?</p><p>He’d sat here all through the night, sleep taunting him from afar. And now he was back because this wretchedly serene place brought him comfort. It gave him time to ruin the pages he had leftover from the fire and fold till his fingers were numb. Surrounded by things so morbid and dreary, Edward felt more secure than he had in a long while.</p><p>This was a place for the dead. It was rather fitting.</p><p>Even out in the open, it felt calm. There was barren space far off into the field and he wondered if he could at some point line up stones stamped with the names he’d committed to memory and held next to his heart.</p><p>He wouldn’t always be there to remember.</p><p>Edward blinked hard and drank in the damp air.</p><p>So far there were thirty paper planes and boats scattered around him. Edward had torn the paper as small as it would go. It was a mindless task.</p><p>Familiar, though.</p><p>So he continued. It helped the angry from talking to Mustang fade. </p><p>A memory from earlier—easier, simpler, better—times tugged lightly at his mind, and for once he didn’t care to push it away.</p><p>His sunk back into the sickly embrace of the past and closed his eyes.</p><p>It was in the middle of a downpour and Percy had been bouncing off the walls, babbling about the storm drains and how perfect they would be for his new, freshly wax-coated boat. He was giggling and clutching his creation even as the windows shook from the force of the wind, a few shingles flying loose from neighbouring buildings.</p><p>Edward had eventually relented and trailed after the boy in the empty streets. They were soaked to the bone within minutes. Edward watched the redhead as he ran, leaping and skipping. He chased the little paper boats as they raced through the water streams and, eventually, slipped down into a gutter.</p><p>Percy didn’t seem to mind. He grinned and asked to do it all again.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>Edward jerked back, the scene faded back to the brilliant greens and blues of Resembool.</p><p>He turned and was met with… himself.</p><p>With this worlds version of him. With two arms and an intact brother.He expected to feel jealousy, but it was mostly guilt. Because that’s all he could feel now, wasn’t it.</p><p>Guilt was the default. It made him feel heavy.</p><p>(That meant it was possible. It was possible to have gotten Al back without sacrificing himself. Things might be entirely different here but it still could’ve been done and Edward had chosen to leave. He abandoned his little brother. He failed on such an astronomical level just looking at the pair of alters made him feel dizzy.</p><p>He abandoned his little brother.</p><p>That is, if it even <em>worked</em>. With his own two hands, he’d willingly made the second worst decision of his life and it had been <em>so easy</em>—)</p><p>He met Ed’s eyes silently.</p><p>Edward’s expression was numbed and careless. <em>Something</em> inside him was breaking but it certainly wasn’t his heart. That was long gone. Or, at least it had gone into hiding.</p><p>“Who were those people? Dev, Percy and Noah.”</p><p>Deep in his chest, that <em>something</em> snapped.</p><p>A time bomb was set deep in his gut and began to tick. If it got to zero, hell would break loose.</p><p>“No. You don’t <em>get</em> to do that.” He snarled. “You don’t get to bring them up.”</p><p>Ed stumbled back a step or two at his tone, but no anger flared. He stayed neutral. Edward felt hot and devastatingly volatile.</p><p>“Who were they?” He asked again.</p><p>“You shouldn’t have seen that at all.” Edward’s hands curled at his sides, frame taut.</p><p>Ed stayed perfectly still. “But I did.”</p><p>He was letting precious inches be cut off from his patience. The trait he’d been forced to foster out of necessity was withering away into a husk. Edward would gladly kick the damn thing to the curb and let it be swept away.</p><p>“I saw the four of you together.”</p><p>“<em>Don’t</em>—“</p><p>“You seemed like friends.”</p><p>Edward glowered, his teeth clenched tight. “Shut up.”</p><p>“You were watching a play.”</p><p>“Stop it.” He warned lowly. Ed didn’t so much as twitch despite the malice laced words. His face was flat and practically begging Edward to throw a punch. It wouldn’t be doing him any favours with his humble goal of <em>not</em> getting arrested or maybe killed by this worlds occupants. He’d been lucky so far. That didn't mean he wasn't tempted. </p><p>The fact that they hadn’t fired on sight felt like a miracle. But Edward saw the wave of determination fly over the others face before smoothing.</p><p>“Answer me first.”</p><p>The tarnished glaze over Edward’s eyes was flooded by the brilliant shine he thought was taken long ago by smog and cinders.</p><p>“<em>No</em>.”</p><p>It all came up at once. The hurting, vicious rage; the grief and the hopelessness, frustration, loss—<em>everything</em> came to a violent boil and exploded forward.</p><p>“I don’t owe you anything and you sure as hell aren’t entitled to know about my past. Especially not <em>them."</em> He spat. Edward didn’t care to see his own gracelessness. This was a site for the dead. A space for quiet, but the burning spirals of emotions went pouring out regardless. He was among his peers anyways. They’d understand.</p><p>The dead knew to smile at one another.</p><p>He seethed. “I told you what you wanted to know and they have <em>nothing</em> to with it so stop trying to get answers like its a game. Every one of you have been doing it and it’s—it’s like you don’t <em>realize</em> that it’s not some story! It was my fucking life. I had to live through so much shit to get here and you’re treating it like a puzzle.”</p><p>Edward’s breaths were coming quicker, more clipped. The cries weren’t even aimed at Ed.</p><p>Some of it, sure. But he’d been cramming every moment of awfulness and despair into a box, trying to seal it shut. It was a torrent of dark, ugly emotions that had been building up since he ran into this band of off-kilter friends with melting faces and buckets of ulterior motives.</p><p>Mustang, Winry, Hawkeye, <em>Al…</em></p><p>(<em>Before. Way before. East city. Stockholm. The boat. A pile of rubble. Rostock. Central. Home.</em>)</p><p>On a tilted goddamn axis, the world turned. Imperfect ad infinitum and it wasn’t fair. Edward had given up on Equivalent Exchange, but <em>fuck</em>… what else did he have to give?</p><p>That <em>law</em>, the lovechild of myopia and pessimism, dressed by the hands of the downtrodden.</p><p>Edward had stopped wanting to believe because he didn’t want to earn his happiness anymore. It was too exhausting. Of course hiding it away it didn’t work. <em>Of course</em> he was losing control now. It was unfair and cruel.</p><p>That didn’t stop the words from tearing out of his throat in a growl. “Don’t even try to justify it. You have no right to talk about that. I’m only here because there’s some asshole up there who wanted a good laugh and I am so tired of this so just…. <em>stop</em>.”It ended in a breath, his voice catching on the hanging hooks of regret and heartache. </p><p>He felt like an idiot.</p><p>A much more calm and relaxed idiot, but an idiot all the same. Edward heaved out a defeated sigh and sat down hard, hanging his head. “You’re terrible. Absolutely awful.”</p><p>Ed offered a sympathetic smile. “I get that a lot. Feel better?”</p><p>“…yes.” The bitter admission came in a hiss. Ed closed the space between them and sunk down beside the other.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> He'd let himself be the punching bag. It was... kind.</span></p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">What a wild thing. Kindness, that is.</span>
</p><p>“I told the Colonel to back off. He’s insensitive and bullheaded, but he didn’t mean much by it.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. Same as the bastard I knew.”</p><p>Ed chuckled, bracing his hands (his <em>flesh</em> hands, the smug prick) behind him to tilt back. “You know, he <em>stills</em> calls me Fullmetal. Like, I left the military years ago and he won’t stop.”</p><p>“I think he called me Ed a few times and left the office for the rest of the day.” Edward mused. The tension evaporated and he felt lighter than he had in ages.</p><p>“An outright weirdo in every world.” Ed snickered.</p><p>“Hah. Yeah.”</p><p>Ed paused, twisting slightly to glance at the paper scattered around. He frowned, en eyebrow raised. “What’s with all the little boats and… birds?”</p><p>“Planes.”</p><p>“Right,”</p><p>Edward exhaled. “Old habit. Someone I knew used to love making them.”</p><p>The other reached over to touch one, but paused, shooting a glance back at Edward. He was waiting for permission. He gave a nod and watched Ed turn the little plane over in his hands nimbly.</p><p>“How’d you figure out how to make shit fly?” Ed questioned.</p><p>He shrugged. “The laws of physics are pretty breakable.”</p><p>The other looked a bit taken aback, still studying the paper in his hand intensely. He seemed to figure it out within a few moments and drew back his arm, bent at the elbow and aimed upwards. The paper projectile took off in an arch, dipping into a fast loop before swooping low to be caught among the blades of grass.</p><p>Edward cast a meek look to Ed, mouth twisted into a frown. “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>He blinked. “Uh, yeah. Shoot.”</p><p>“How’d you get him back?” Edward made a point to look his counterpart in the eyes as he spoke and watched his expression dissolve into one of understanding and affinity.</p><p>“I gave up alchemy. You?”</p><p>Edward took a moment and—</p><p>—<em>swayed</em>.</p><p>He thought he might fall with how his vision swam, coursing with the power of a typhoon. His ears filled with static for a moment and a hand might’ve steadied him from the side.</p><p>Beyond the ringing, a voice asked. “You okay?”</p><p>It’s not <em>fair</em>. Hadn’t he effectively done the same?</p><p>And now he was saddled with ten hundred names, faces, and memories like a ball and chain. When would it be enough?</p><p>Edward swallowed back the swell of wrongness and took in a weak breath. “I don’t know if it worked.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>He looked to Ed with a wry smile. “Cause I’m still alive.”</p><p>The other boy's eyes widened. “You tried to give yourself up..?”</p><p>“Yeah,” He breathed.</p><p>It grew quiet. A low murmur of wind swept through the graveyard. Edward gazed back out to where there were a few empty plots. A list of people ran through his head. There were no ages, and he couldn’t put a face to each one, but still…</p><p>He could give an age and face for at least <em>one</em>.</p><p>“Alright, what?” Ed was looking at him, eyebrows raised quizzically. Edward frowned back at him, head tilted while the other huffed. “I know that<em> oh I’ve got an idea </em>look. It’s, like, my third favourite expression to use. What’s up?”</p><p>He hesitated. “Would it be in poor taste to make a grave for someone without the body?”</p><p>“This <em>is</em> a graveyard.” He gave a tiny smirk, one parts sly, two parts benignity. It was comforting to know he didn’t have to explain himself. Because it was him.</p><p>Two versions of the same person sitting side by side and it made it easier. In a senseless, twisted up way. “Who’s it for—wait, crap actually you don’t have to,“</p><p>Edward cut him off softly. “Percy, the little red haired kid.”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>.” The word was pulled from Ed’s mouth without bothering to go through a filter. “…I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t do <em>that</em>. You know it sucks.”</p><p>“Yeah but… that’s just really—“</p><p>“Oh, I know.” Somehow, his throat didn’t close up. “Bad, tragic, shitty, <em>whatever</em>. No matter you wanna phrase it. It <em>happened</em>.” Somehow, his chest didn’t tighten like a tourniquet. Edward smiled, weary and sad, gesturing to the papers still scattered around. “He <em>really</em> liked planes.”</p><p>It was easier to say out loud than he thought: using past tense for the bright and energetic kid he’d known. Thought it still left a sting in his eyes, but it was less tinted with hate now. Just a gentle type of mourning.</p><p>Something he hadn’t let himself do just yet.</p><p>It sucked.</p><p>But, as it turns out, his heart <em>was</em> still there. And it ached.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ed decided not to mention that, upon the grazing contact his hand hand with Edward’s shoulder, he’d been shoved back into another alien set of memories. They came in flashes. These ones were far less pleasant.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The wooden floors swayed underfoot and the space was deteriorated. There was a woman, her hair shorn off close to her ears and shaking terribly. Her hands in were practically blurring together.</p><p>Edward was there, kneeling in front of the woman. “Why?”</p><p>“I gave them fakes… the money.” Behind her there was a girl, no more than four or five, asleep on the floor with a jacket pillowed by her head. The woman held out her palms. “Hands. They shake, see? I cannot do it myself.” Edward nodded, looking apprehensive and halfway to becoming a corpse. There was dirt, blood, and bruises staining his face, making him look eerie; hollow.</p><p>The woman gave him a watery smile, tapping one trembling knuckle against her teeth.</p><p>Edward exhaled heavily and bowed his head. “How many?”</p><p>She held up two fingers. “Two. One for me and one for her.” She waved to the kid.</p><p>He stared hard, gaze sharp and holding a barely masked discomfort; it slowly became clearer that he was more scared than anything else. Edward’s face dropped and he looked away, head turning to the side.</p><p>The boat—that what it was, wasn’t it? Why else would everything reek of salt and ozone—rocked and the crowded space trembled violently. It felt like this ship was coming apart and the seams. “There has to be something else. There <em>has</em> to.” Edward said, voice almost pleading. The woman watched him with a sad look. His hands curled. “What if I—“</p><p>“No,” She cut him of. Edward closed his eyes in a grimace.</p><p>The woman reached forward, her touch unsteady and careful as she brushed Edward’s hair back, tucking the torn ends behind his ear and rested her hand on his cheek.</p><p>He shrank in on himself with a wavering intake and the woman tutted, gently turning him back to look at her. “This is mine. Not yours.”</p><p>His eyes grew just a bit wider, horrified at something that wasn’t being said. Her hand dropped down, pressing something into Edward’s palm and closing his fingers around it. “You’ve got good hands. They won’t do me any wrong.”</p><p>The way she spoke was choppy and unpolished, but Edward understood. He gripped the dark thing in his hand. “I’m… I’m sorry.”</p><p>She shook her head, the wisps of hair fluttering and clinging to the sweat on her forehead. “Humm. Smile, yes? For me. When I can’t.” The woman was grinning through her tears and Edward nodded slowly, meeting her gaze deliberately but offering no response.</p><p>He brought up the small wooden tool, and turned it to the blunt end. The woman’s smile stretched impossibly wide and she shut her eyes.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I killed my mom, you know.” The space was dark and small. Edward sat curled in a corner, slumped back with a blanket bundled around him. He looked feverish and dazed. Across from him, no more than two feet away leaning against a wall, was Noah.</p><p>“Are you ever going to tell me about that?” She asked.</p><p>Edward stared at her hard like she might vanish. “No, probably not. I mean, will I even get a chance?”</p><p>“I supposed you won’t.” She replied. The space shuddered and Noah flickered for just a moment. She tilted her head at the blond. Edward mirrored her moments and she bit her lip nervously.</p><p>“You know I’m not real, right?”</p><p>Edward sunk back against the wall with a dejected sigh. “Yeah, I know.”</p><p>“I’m here because you want me here.” Noah told him gently. Her steps floated, skimming the wooden floors as she moved to sit cross-legged in front of the blond. “You can’t have Percy and you’re too scared to see Dev. So I’m here.” Edward shut his eyes and bowed his head. A ragged, choked cough tore through him. He swallowed back a fit of gasps.</p><p>Noah’s eye remained trained on him. “Your friends from home can’t be here. Cause you’re scared they’re dead. Winry, Rose, Mustang’s men and all the rest. Your brother... you’re terrified of seeing him.”</p><p>“Yeah.” He murmured back. “<em>I know.</em>”</p><p>She watched him for a moment, breathing in laboured inhales. “You’re sick.”</p><p>“As a dog.” Edward agreed.</p><p>“And it’s killing you, the ship fever. You’re going to die.”</p><p>His head rose up to meet her eyes with a sardonic grin. “I probably will, yeah. I don’t want to, but, you know...”</p><p>Noah seemed unfazed. She shifted a little closer, hands folded in her lap and neutrality over her face. “What’ll happen when you die?”</p><p>“Nothing.” Edward replied resolutely. The wooden walls quivered and something whistled outside the door. He flinched at the sharp cries before regaining his calm, apathetic air. “The world will turn. They’ll toss me overboard.”</p><p>“The world will turn.” She parroted with a nod.</p><p>“I don’t even…” Edward floundered, “the <em>dying</em> part. I’ve done that before. I just—I’d like a grave this time.”</p><p>“I wonder if that’s how your mother felt when you killed her.”</p><p>“Oh<em> please</em>. There wasn’t a body by the end. She just—“ He made a fumbling, sweeping motion with his hands. “—evaporated.”</p><p>Noah shrugged and her eyes began to wander around the walls, lips pulled into a disapproving frown. She cast a look to Edward once again. “Why do you want a grave, Ed?”</p><p>“Proof...” He shivered, “that I lived.”</p><p>“You can’t lie to me.” Noah folded her arms with a mild, unimpressed look.</p><p>“Wanna bet?” His eyes were slipping shut, pulled by heavy anchors and illness. Edward weakly brushed his sweat dampened hair away from his eyes. The pieces too short to stay put hung loose over his face.</p><p>Noah glared. “<em>Edward</em>.”</p><p>“I have to remember them.” He admitted softly. “All the people who died. In both worlds, even the ones who tried to kill me. I’ll share my headstone with ‘em.” Edward stumbled over his words as his jaw tried to lock in place.</p><p>Noah’s hand, waning and rippling. Her fingers ghosted over his forehead. They didn’t touch his skin, but she pulled back looking troubled.“Hum. You look tired.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> tired, Noah.” He choked out a bitter laugh.</p><p>“Well then you should sleep.”</p><p>“Tell them not to throw me over, yeah?” Edward curled in on himself a little protectively. He seemed too small.</p><p>Noah stood up cautiously, looking down at him. “You’ll have an unmarked grave.”</p><p>“Thats fine. I’m gonna share it, remember?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Al slowly peaked into the dark room. It’s the one where the double had been staying. He winced internally.</p><p>
  <em>Edward. His name is Edward. He’s not a clone or a puppet. That’s a person, you dumbass.</em>
</p><p>It was a good thing that Mustang’s team didn’t mind sharing the other spare, because this one now looked rather grisly. It was blood tinted and splattered with mystery. One that Al was still itching to dig into. He’d avoided Mustang’s approach of tactlessly swan diving into their guest’s life and decided to snoop around silently instead.</p><p>Morally, maybe not the best thing. If he was caught all the trust that had been cobbled together would be torn down—that is, if there was any in the first place.</p><p>He was mostly curious about the notes. The science behind it. He desperately wanted to know what <em>nu-clear</em> meant.</p><p>Maybe Al was missing the forest for the trees, but the existence of multiple worlds was drawing him in and he was incurably, intensely intrigued by the sketches and blueprints he’d caught a glimpse of.</p><p>What he didn’t expect to find hidden away in the battered briefcase, was a <em>gun</em>.</p><p>Heavy enough to be real and mindfully hidden in the folds of spare pockets lining the sides.</p><p>He stumbled back, dropping the case with a sharp gasp.</p><p>Al stared for a moment, confused and hoping he’d somehow imagined it, but another peek confirmed that, <em>yes</em>, there was a real gun there. The grip was worn and the paint chipped to mere slivers. He dashed from the room and into the kitchen.</p><p>“Al?” Hawkeye and Mustang sat across from other another, gnawing away at plain toast, Winry standing with her hands plunged into a water basin. They all looked at him, looking startled.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>“There’s a gun.” He exclaimed breathlessly.</p><p>Hawkeye’s plate clattered, her utensils dropping. “A gun?” She repeated.</p><p>“He—in his briefcase.”</p><p>“Show me.”</p><p>He darted away and carefully grabbed the pistol with one hand, trying to touch as little of the surface as possible. He set it down gently on the table and stepped back.</p><p>Al pushed back his hair, chewing his lip as Hawkeye examined it. Mustang and Winry were hovering over her shoulder.</p><p>Al glanced to the Colonel. “Where’s Brother?”</p><p>“He… probably went to the graveyard.” The older said slowly. Only a fraction his attention was being spared for Al, most of it zeroing in on the firearm. Winry was no better, leaning in and pursing her lips, brow furrowed. She may not be versed in weapons like Hawkeye, but she was still a brilliant mechanic. She could probably see the workings with just a glance, or at least be trying to figure it out.</p><p>Hawkeye turned the weapon over in her hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a model like this before.” She flipped it, fiddling with the square bulk right beside the handle until it snapped open. They crowded, trying to peer inside while she tilted it, the lights catching the interior with a quick flash.</p><p>She frowned, running her hand along the edges, catching a little switch and seeming relieved that it was locked in place.</p><p>That was the safety, if Al had to guess. Guns were something he’d always avoided</p><p>“Magazine is still in.”</p><p>“That’s for the ammunition?” Winry questioned. The older woman nodded, skillfully sliding the device from its spot.</p><p>“... it’s missing four rounds.”</p><p>She and Mustang both tensed, exchanging looks.</p><p>Al tilted his head. “Isn’t that a good thing? Less bullets less danger.”</p><p>Hawkeye pushed the magazine back into place with a sharp squeeze of metal on metal. “It also means it’s been used four times before.” Al dully registered a soft creak from the front door, but it was drowned by the concerning revelation.</p><p>
  <em>He’d just wanted to skim over some notes. That’s it.</em>
</p><p>Why did everything have to be flipped on its head the moment the world had started to settle? Days upon weeks of glancing over his shoulder, worrying and waiting, finally brought to a close only to be replaced with a new flavour of unease. “What should we do?”</p><p>“Stop going through other people’s things, for starters.” They all jumped.</p><p>Edward stood at the kitchen threshold, arms crossed and looking unimpressed. He strode forward and swiftly took the pistol from Hawkeye, checking the same switch she had been toying with and using the heel of his hand to snap the cover back into place. Ed stood just outside the doorframe, watching. Al tried to catch his brothers eye, but he only shot him an admonishing glance before offering up a cold shoulder.</p><p>Al swallowed and looking back to Edward. “Why do you have that?”</p><p>He stuffed the weapon into his pocket. “Same reason anyone has a gun.”</p><p>“To shoot.” Hawkeye said cautiously.</p><p>He avoided their eyes and replied bitterly. “To not <em>get</em> shot.”</p><p>“That’s cryptic.” Mustang muttered. The previous demeanour the Colonel had held—made up of two parts curiosity and one part clumsy sympathy—was plowed over by dubiousness. Al knew that Mustang could manhandle his outward emotions into cadges like a professional animal wrangler but this, was growing to be more clear and unmasked than he’d every come to expect.</p><p>Edward dismissed the air of suspicion, ignoring the tones that were clearly demanding answers with a wave and a dry smirk. “Certainly is. Doesn’t matter anyways though. I’ll be out of your hair now.”They all looked taken aback. “I’m leaving.” He supplied plainly.</p><p>“You can’t just leave!”</p><p>He snorted. “Oh, <em>yes I can.</em> What? You’d rather I stay here? Pass.”</p><p>“You could.” Winry said softly. Her voice made him pause. Al started to notice how he’d been angling himself away from Winry specifically. And Al <em>himself</em>.</p><p>Edward was avoiding them. Both in sight and speech, he had been steering clear of the two. He’d been vague in his explanations about The Gate and the woman named Dante, enough to omit most everything involving his brother and friends.</p><p>Had something happened?</p><p>
  <em>Think. The pieces are there, put them together.</em>
</p><p>Edward turned away and made for where his belongings had been stashed. They scrambled to block the door. Ed stood aside, unbothered and apparently okay with letting the his double just walk out. He glared at them, shaking his head in a clear warning to back off.</p><p>Logically, Al knew should listen and urge everyone away from the door. His brother was wrong often enough, but this was <em>him</em> they were dealing with.</p><p>Ed’s direct parallel. If anyone would know how to handle him, it would be Ed, right?</p><p>The faith Al held in his brother was squashed by a swell of emotions he couldn’t quite place. It was nonsensical, but he didn’t want to see Edward leave. He didn’t even look all that similar to the Ed he knew, not upon close inspection, but still.</p><p>It’s his <em>brother</em>. In this world and every other.</p><p>Seeing a family member walk out was something he’d sworn not to let happen again. Not when the world was ordinary, nor when the circumstances became extraordinary.</p><p>So, Al held fast. “At least wait a few days. You were bleeding out <em>yesterday</em>.”</p><p>“Move.”</p><p>Mustang took a half step forward, arms raised placatingly. “Listen, I get it but—“</p><p>“No you don’t.” Edward shook his head, the tiny little smile still stapled in place. “How could you possible get it?”</p><p>He gestured to them. His eyes were being slowly infected with something like sadness, but more resigned and lonely. “Do you all think I want to be here? Surrounded by people who look and sound <em>exactly</em> like the ones I knew but act like I’m a bomb about to go off? Holding people at arms length isn’t exactly a fun pastime.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do that…” Winry said, eyes downcast.</p><p>“I’m not <em>him</em>.” He said, unflinching and stubborn, pointing a finger to Ed. “So you can stop acting like it.”</p><p>Hawkeye looked on is disbelief. “You’re just giving up?”</p><p>Edward sighed. His shoulders dropped like they’d been holding up the stars. “What do you want from me? I’m supposed to be <em>dead</em>. Four times over. This is all just a shitty situation and I’m done wasting my time on something impossible.”</p><p>Al’s eyes narrowed.</p><p>It was said that Ed was the more brash of the two. That Al was level and calm, kinder and his mood didn’t rest in the hands of a coin toss. That he didn’t have the same fuse as his brother. And that was a goddamn lie.</p><p>Maybe his was longer, but that only meant the impact would be twice as hard. He took two steps and drew in a deep breath. “That didn’t stop you before!” Al cried. “The Philosophers Stone was impossible too but you <em>never</em> cared!”</p><p>The pliant smile flipped into a frown. “And it got a lot of people killed.”</p><p>“So you owe it to those people to get home.” Winry marched up beside Al, glaring hard.</p><p>“Seriously?” Edward gave her a disbelieving look. “That’s your argument?”</p><p>“Yes seriously! Do you have any idea how selfish it is to just stop trying? If any of them were here they’d probably punch you. I’m not even <em>them</em> and I’m mad.” Her tone made good on the words, ringing with a stubborn willingness to put any number of metal tools to use. Ed’s eyes were darting between the two parties, flicking from the Colonel and Lieutenant who had shifted to back them up, and Edward, looking miffed and resigned.</p><p>He clearly didn’t want to have to deal with this, but his conviction had been fragile to begin with. It'd been three years since Edward had seen the people of Amestris and, whether he realized it or not, part of him didn’t want to run.</p><p>Al could see it, hidden away in the inflections of his tone, carefully asking them not to tempt him home.</p><p>A small epiphany hit Al that Edward hadn’t been avoiding them for any of the reason’s he’d cooked up—guilt, regret, jealously, grief or the experience of seeing ghosts—but because it was drawing him back.</p><p>Three years was a long time.</p><p>It had been even longer since Edward had seen any version of his brother in the flesh.</p><p>Al refused to go down without a fight. So, he pulled his trump card. “Maybe you’re not my brother but… you still <em>are</em>. And I—he—wouldn’t just let you go off and mope”</p><p>They locked eyes in full for only a split second, but Al was certain he saw a flash.</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>Edward’s eyes sparked.</p><p><em>There is was</em>. The last straw. The neutrality broke away and Edward glowered. “Why did I have to make friends with a bunch of nut cases.”</p><p>Al grinned.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>In the end, he found Fullmetal on the roof, of all places.</p><p>Roy had been granted to illustrious honour of going after Fullmetal. He’d dropped his merger luggage on the ground with a wicked glower and calmly informed them that he was going to clean out the nearest liquor store.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Al was smiling like a lunatic and Ed has looked surprised.</span></p><p>So now he had to go find the damn kid. Not that it could’ve been anyone else. Hell, if he was being honest they didn’t really need anyone to find him; everyone was reasonably certain Fullmetal was done running. But it made him feel better about the situation after Ed had glared at him so fiercely that Roy’s heart had jumped.</p><p>“Why <em>me</em>?” He demanded indigently.</p><p>Ed practically seethed. “Cause you were being a dick! I know you’re about as emotionally competent as a fork, but don’t you think you should say something?”</p><p>Hawkeye stood to his right, hand raised. “I vote for an apology.” Roy felt a stab of betrayal and shot her a look. She broke his conviction over her knee with a simply shrug. “He’s right. You were prying. It was rude."</p><p>He sighed and was essentially shoved down the steps by four pairs of hands, the door slammed shut and <em>locked</em> behind him</p><p>Roy hung his head in exasperation and started to trek through the countryside. He eventually found his way into the closest thing Resembool had to a cityscape. It consisted of only a few, meandering blocks, worn down roads and with a few dozen people scattered around. No sign of a golden haired kid milling about.</p><p>He’d eventually retreated in defeated onto to see the brat staring up at the sky and writing furiously. He didn’t see a latter, nor was there a hatch from the inside to access the roof, lest he’d dared go onto Winry’s balcony. Which meant he’d somehow… <em>climbed</em>.</p><p>He shook his head incredulously. Roy clambered his way up, wincing at the occasional <em>thump</em> that surely alerted the younger to his presence.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure I said I wasn’t gonna leave.” He said before Roy had come within eyeshot. Fullmetal’s back was to Roy, one hand braced behind him with his little book—crammed full of writing, all across the margins and even on the insides of the covers—balanced on his knee while his hand absolutely flew across the page.</p><p>“That’s not why…” The older started hesitantly. He moved closer til he was only a few feet behind Fullmetal. The words stubbornly stuck to his throat, feeling alien and acidic on his tongue. Roy bravely conked his remaining pride into submission and held his head high. “I owe you an apology.”</p><p>“It’s fine.” Fullmetal replied easily, not missing a beat.</p><p>Roy felt taken aback. He might’ve been able to see smugness or even outright refusal, but to shrug it off? The shock was welcome, as getting yelled at by an Elric was a thunderous ordeal that landed him in a dim room trying to ward off headaches and popping acetaminophen like candies, but shocking nonetheless. “I didn’t even say—“ He started.</p><p>“<em>Hah</em>.” Fullmetal cut him off with an airy puff of laughter. “You were being a jerk but, what? You think I’d hold a grudge over that?” He cast a glance over his shoulder, his hand slowing in it’s rampage. He looked clam. Tired, but <em>calm</em> in a way he hadn’t before. It was a bit performative, the ease he’s laid out beforehand. For the sake of keeping whatever secrets he didn’t want to disclose, if Roy had to to a gander. Fullmetal had plastered on agreeability. It was sincere now.</p><p>Roy’s eyebrows pinched together. “Yes, <em>you</em> would.”</p><p>He gave a half shrug. “Well sorry to disappoint. I don’t have time for grudges, really. Did you need something else or were you just come up here for fun?” Roy silently bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head.</p><p>“I thought you said you were going to raid the liquor store.”</p><p>“Have you every heard of a joke..? It’s this brand new thing where—“</p><p>Roy cut him off with a huff.</p><p>The kid hummed and turned his gaze back up, head tipped back, looking serene like he had back in that field of yellowed wheat.</p><p>“Can I ask why you’re up here?”</p><p>His eyes flickered, the light from above reflecting sharply. For a moment they looked like they were supposed to: they looked like Ed’s eyes. “Sky’s different. I can actually <em>see</em> it here. It’s kinda weird.”</p><p>Fullmetal had said that before. Back when the moon and stars were still mingling with dawn.</p><p>Roy took a cautious step forward, both worrying for his admittedly less-than-stellar balance on the slanted shingles, and watching for any warning from the blond to back off. Guilt for his intrusiveness had slowly come to a boil and he was trying to put forth a little more regard for his privacy. It pained him a little; Roy still wanted to essentially interrogate Fullmetal and know each and every detail, but the firm words from Ed had snapped him back to reality. It would be unkind to be so invasive. Cruel, actually.</p><p>Roy followed his gaze upwards where the stretch of sky wrestled with the clouds in a brilliant shine of blue and white. It was pleasant.</p><p>He wondered how long the skies had been pillowed in smoke and wreathed in ashes for Fullmetal to still be unused to the sight. He remembered how, for days at a time after a raid or large scale attack, dark grey plumes would hang over the land in a burning halo. The air would be rich with soot and everything tasted like coal. Even the air itself felt filled with debris.</p><p>Roy looked down at the blond.“So what now?”</p><p>“Hum?”</p><p>He gestured. “What’re are you going to do?”</p><p>Fullmetal sighed. He shut his notebook, slipping it into some unseen pocket and spinning the pen mindlessly. He sat a little straighter, eyes still touched with the proper kind of light that made him seem so much younger and better… less tainted with wrongness. “I hate to admit it, but you’re all right. My friends would kick my ass if I did nothing.”</p><p>“You’re going to try to get home, then?” Fullmetal nodded. Roy’s gaze softened a little. “Which one?”</p><p>“Haven’t a clue. Maybe I’ll throw a dart to decide.” He joked, but the gentle tone never faltered. He seemed relieved. Roy couldn’t deny the feeling was mutual. No matter what, it was still <em>Ed</em>.</p><p>Even worn down and with a chip off his shoulder the size of a literal war, this was still the vibrant, brash kid that had dropkicked himself into Roy's life. Technically twice now, as the past few months had earned themselves claims to the label <em>chaotic</em>.</p><p>Roy couldn’t erase the little soft spot that had forced it’s way into his heart, proudly holding the sign <em>reserved for the Elrics</em>. The rule applied to the multi-dimensional ones too, as it so happens. Fullmetal got to his feet. “First I’d like to know why I got sent here of all places. Maybe I can just reverse engineer the shit out of this.”</p><p>“<em>Just</em> you?”</p><p>He scoffed. “Relax. I know I can’t get rid of you lot even if I had a weighted net.”</p><p>Roy almost laughed cause even then, he was sure they’d find a way easily enough. He looked out over the vibrant landscape, hills sprawling in every direction. He cast a look to Fullmetal. “So where to?”</p><p>“Central.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>I need to—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>—stay.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Evening! I hope you are all doing swell!<br/>I am sorry to inform, but the "a hop skip and a jump" series will be going on hiatus for a while.<br/>However, I'm ecstatic to inform that this is due to me wanting to bang out "Blackwell Springs", an FMA horror fic that I've been working at for some time! Yes, I'm shilling for my own fic.<br/>It'll start posting between sept 8th and 11th. </p><p>Also!! HOLY SHIT MORE ART!!!!!</p><p><a href="https://raisans-art.tumblr.com/post/627029834724458496/wowie-that-new-capra-chapter-was-pretty-fun-huh-i">1</a> <a href="https://csealia.tumblr.com/post/627112651297832960/my-favorite-author-liathgray-has-captivated-me">2</a> <a href="https://bluestonewings.tumblr.com/post/627202177336836096/gold-on-gold-it-couldve-been-nice-capra">3</a> <a href="https://spectra-bear.tumblr.com/post/627279260122595328/give-the-boy-some-rest-liathgray">4</a> <a href="https://magmatickobaian.tumblr.com/post/627441304315609088/capra-fanart">5</a></p><p>Y'all are so wicked talented. I am just.. I awe and shock. I'm immensely grateful for the support and enthusiasm. Hopefully this chapter was satisfying enough! See you in a few weeks</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Self control? Never heard of her.<br/>Welcome to Capra folks! I'll probably update weekly and to everyone who bugged me to post this: I blame you entirely. Also I love you.<br/>For the sake of clarity, in the narration 03 will be Edward and Brotherhood will be Ed. Simplicity n all that.<br/>Hope this was enough of a hook for y'all to stick around!<br/>Drop a kudos or a comment to make me cry.<br/><a href="liathgray.tumblr.com">Tumblr</a> is a fun place where I talk about my Fics and other stuff. Come say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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